


Murder on the Oriental Blimp

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, Murder Mystery, Original Character Death(s), POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5662342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some decades after the events recorded in "Girl Genius", several prominent Europan leaders are invited to a diplomatic meeting in New Delhi; they travel on the most magnificent of luxury airships, the Oriental Blimp.  Ardsley Wooster, now Lord Heversham, travels with Gil as interpreter, and is delighted to be among so many of his old friends.</p><p>But when one of the passengers is found hanged in his cabin, Lord Heversham must once again assume the mantle of detective and solve the case before the airship arrives in India.  Though his brain is as sharp as ever, the years have not been kind to him physically.  Can he - with the earnest but occasionally over-enthusiastic assistance of Professor Jiminez Hoffmann - deliver the goods in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Ardsley!” Gil bounced into the room with a manic grin on his face. “You'll never guess what I'm going to ask you to do.”

I looked up at him and smiled back. “H'mm. Test your latest invention, perchance?”

“Not this time. Something I can guarantee you'll enjoy.”

“Ah!” I said. “You want me to translate something?”

“That and more. How do you fancy a trip to India, all expenses paid?”

I gaped at him. “That... would be amazing, but what is this all about?”

He plonked himself down in the chair opposite me. “Our friends in Russia have been in negotiations with India for quite some time, as I'm sure you'll be aware. Well, now I'm in on it too, and the Tsarina and I are going over there in person for an official visit. While they've obviously got people who can speak Russian and various Europan languages, it's only polite to bring someone along with us who can speak Hindustani, and that, my friend, is where you come in.”

“I'd be delighted,” I replied, warmly. “What about the family? Would they be coming too?”

“Unfortunately not. Just leaders and essential staff this time. Obviously you're not exactly staff, but... well, you're definitely essential.”

“I'm sure Lucilla can manage without me for a little while,” I replied. “Possibly better than I can without her. Still, she's never been very interested in visiting India; she thinks it would be too hot for her, and she's probably quite right.”

“Well, I hate to deprive you of your lovely wife,” said Gil, “but I can at least promise you good company, even if it's not exactly a replacement. We aren't the only ones going. Your favourite sparring partner Tarvek has also been invited, and so has Agatha; with the greatest respect to her, I'm surprised Mechanicsburg is enough of a power to interest the Indians...” He tailed off awkwardly.

“I imagine they are interested in Agatha herself, not Mechanicsburg,” I replied. “What about Paris?”

“Oh! Yes, I had almost forgotten. The Master himself is not well enough to travel, so I expect he will be sending Colette. She is his heir, after all.”

“It will be good to see her again,” I said. “We shall all have quite a reunion. I wonder how many essential staff Agatha will bring?”

“Not too many, I should guess,” Gil replied. “They're not encouraging anyone to bring more than three people with them. That means it'll either be the Jägers or Zeetha, Higgs and Violetta.”

“Then I think it will be the Jägers,” I said. “We'll be away for a little while, and Agatha will probably want to leave the other three in charge of the castle. How will we be travelling, by the way?”

“In the lap of luxury,” Gil replied. “We're going on the Oriental Blimp.”

* * * * *

Gil and I boarded the Oriental Blimp a few days later, accompanied by his chief administrator, Donatella Marchesi, and a clank which was to serve as valet, maid and general factotum. The airship certainly merited its luxurious reputation. Everywhere we looked, there was ornately carved and inlaid shisham wood, richly coloured velvet, gold fittings and crystal glass. Smart uniformed attendants, hailing from the entire length of the route, greeted us as we boarded and showed us to our cabins; mine turned out to be larger than the master bedroom at Blackrigg Hall, with a great four-poster bed duly set out with ivory silk sheets and green velvet curtains.

Once we had unpacked, we were shown into a sumptuous lounge. The Parisian contingent was already on board, of course, and Colette rose to greet us.

“How very nice to see you both again,” she said. “It's been a long time. Mr Wooster, you're now an earl, are you not?”

I nodded. “The Earl of Heversham, in fact; but there is no need to stand on ceremony. Please, call me Ardsley. Almost everyone else on board already does, after all.”

Another familiar face appeared from behind a newspaper, and beamed from ear to ear. “Hey! My favourite Englishman! Long time, no see – how the devil are you?”

“Hoffmann!” I exclaimed. I could not suppress a tiny pang of jealousy; Colette had been able to bring her husband along, whereas I had had to leave Lucilla behind. Still, common sense quickly won. Even if they had not been happily married, she would have done well to bring him. He has always been one of the most likeable and diplomatic sparks I have had the pleasure of knowing.

He jumped up, throwing the paper carelessly aside. “If you want us to call you Ardsley, you must call me Jiminez,” he insisted. He grabbed my hand and shook it warmly. “You're looking well.”

“As are you,” I replied. He was, indeed – more so than I was, to tell the truth. He was about my age, but the years had been kind to him.

“And Gil!” he said. “Can I still call you that? You still have a remarkable head of hair.”

I automatically assumed my best poker face. Gil has hair implants these days which he designed and made himself, and, since he is rather sensitive about this fact, I am one of the few people who know. Each to their own; I am going bald quite gracefully myself. It is no great annoyance to me, but then, of course, now that I am no longer a spy, I always wear a hat out of doors. The only really unpleasant thing about having a bald patch is when it gets rained on.

The Hoffmanns had brought with them a M Jouvert, who was a linguist like myself, and a promising young diplomat by the name of Mlle Rameau who was expected to become an ambassador in the near future. It was not out of the question that she might end up being established in New Delhi. Mlle Rameau was charming and rather quiet, whereas M Jouvert seemed rather grumpy. In particular, he gave me an odd and not entirely friendly look as we were introduced. At the first possible discreet moment, I asked Hoffmann about him.

“Oh,” he said apologetically. “Yeah. He's a good linguist, but he's a bit insecure. Doesn't tend to like anyone who knows more languages than he does.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And how would he know whether or not I know more languages than he does?”

Hoffmann chuckled. “Well, there is the small fact that he's got most of your linguistic monographs. The ones on Indian languages he's brought with him.”

I blinked. “I had no idea anyone read those outside university departments.”

“Well, he is a lecturer when he's not being an interpreter,” Hoffmann replied. “That's how I know him. I'm Professor of Non-Euclidean Physics at the University now. Got my own department and everything.”

“Congratulations!” I exclaimed. “A well-deserved appointment.”

“And so much fun!” he said. “I have some wonderful students. It's a privilege to teach them.”

I smiled. “Are you still blowing things up and landing on unsuspecting spies from a height?”

“Not so much now,” he replied, with a grin. “It's mostly the students who do that sort of thing. Come on, Ardsley; if we're going to reminisce about old times, let's go and do it over a drink. They do a wonderful old port here I've never had anywhere else, and I think you'll love it.”

“I'm always open to recommendations on the port front,” I said. “Lead on, old friend.”

He showed me through to the bar, which was all huge armchairs, polished fittings, and a carpet in which one could quite possibly hide a lapdog. “Let me get you this one,” said Hoffmann. “I probably still owe you a drink for falling on you from a height all those years ago.”

“I make a practice of writing off all debts more than ten years old,” I replied. “I shall buy the next round.”

* * * * *

We picked up Tarvek the following morning, and Agatha later the same day. As I expected, Agatha had brought Dimo, Maxim and Oggie with her. Tarvek had brought his adopted heir, Prince Dmitri; Tatiana the were-samoyed commander; and a young man by the name of Leonid Nevsky whom he described as a “confidential attaché”. None of us was entirely certain what that meant until I spotted him exchanging some very meaningful glances with the Prince. Well, I thought, that explains a great deal.

I had planned to keep quiet, since I knew very well that when the Russian contingent joined us, discretion would be essential. However, Gil caught up with me in a corridor and asked me straight out, “You always know everything. Who is this Nevsky, really?”

I shrugged. “Dmitri's boyfriend. But we don't mention that in front of the Russians when they arrive. I suspect the Tsarina would have apoplexy.”

“Really? I didn't know Dmitri was that way inclined. So Nevsky will be the next Storm Queen, will he?”

“That's... not an awfully sensitive remark, Gil,” I chided him gently. “I know you don't mean anything by it, but don't call a gay man a queen unless you're sure he's happy with it.”

“Sorry,” Gil muttered gruffly. “Thought it wasn't a bad joke. Anyway... yes, of course I'll be discreet when it comes to the Russians. I've no idea why they get so worked up about it, but, since they do... well, obviously we don't want to ruffle the waters.”

“Indeed not,” I replied. “And I hope I wasn't too sharp with you, but... well, you remember Pavel Ivanovich, of course?”

Gil frowned. “Kuchtanin?”

“Yes. He and Pieter van Doren from the Dutch Embassy were involved for years, and not even I knew about it until poor Kuchtanin's funeral. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say the secrecy was what killed him, in the end. I'm sure these two can manage a great deal better, especially since it's not the sort of thing that bothers Tarvek in the least; but the business with Kuchtanin has made me, shall we say, a little sensitive on behalf of anyone in that situation.”

“Which does you credit, Ardsley; but I don't think you need worry too much,” Gil replied. “We're all diplomats here. Well, most of us, and I dare say those who aren't don't know anyway. And, in any case, the Prince and Nevsky will have Tarvek covering their backs. He may be a damn slippery customer, but he's still a good ally to have.”

I nodded. “Oh, he is indeed. And it's also fair to say that the Prince has rather more steel in him than poor Kuchtanin did. Nonetheless, we don't want any unnecessary tension.”

“We shan't have it,” Gil assured me. “It would be a pretty poor do if we couldn't manage to keep the Tsarina blissfully in the dark about her half-brother's preferences. Incidentally, while we're in the business of petty gossip, do you happen to know if Tatiana and Dimo are still... er...?”

“Oh, fairly er, if I'm any judge,” I replied. “But that particular relationship seems very unlikely to have any diplomatic repercussions.”

“Quite the family party,” Gil observed. “I'm really sorry now that you couldn't bring Lucilla. You must be feeling left out.”

I shrugged. “I am, rather. But she did remind me just how much she hates the heat, and that made me feel somewhat better about the whole thing.”

“I can't say I'm a huge fan of it myself,” Gil admitted, “but when you're invited to something like this, you go if it's humanly possible, heat or no heat. I wonder if I can fit that clank with some kind of cooling device?”

“Surely the mechanism won't overheat?” I asked.

Gil rolled his eyes at me. “No, Ardsley, you dolt. _I_ will.”

* * * * *

We collected Tsarina Elisaveta and her small retinue from St Petersburg the day after that. Not entirely to anyone's surprise, the Tsarina had brought Tsarevna Ekaterina, the young heir to the throne of all Russia; she was now fifteen, and it was an obvious opportunity for her to learn statecraft on a grand scale. These two were accompanied by their English bodyguard George Dangerfield, whom I had trained for a few months and who greeted me warmly, and someone else whom at first glance I took for an elderly gentleman. I soon realised my mistake.

“Why, my lord!” exclaimed Princess Orlov, dimpling. She must have been about seventy by now, but her eyes were still as sharp and bright as ever. “I didn't know you were going to be here. What a pleasant surprise!”

I bowed. “Indeed it is,” I said. Princess Orlov no longer set my heart beating a little faster, as she had once done, but I still felt a great deal of warmth towards her, and it was entirely mutual. Both of us were now happily married, and that was as it should be; there was no temptation on either side to muse overmuch on what might have been. But we were friends, and so we would always be.

Prince Dmitri, too, was glad to see the Russian contingent; after all, the Tsarina and the Tsarevna were family, even if he did have to keep quiet about his relationship with Leonid Nevsky. And I should hardly be exaggerating if I were to describe Dimo as overjoyed; he and Tatiana had not seen each other for quite some time now, but it was obvious from the moment they saw each other that they were still just as much in love as ever. By the time we went up to dinner that night, we were a very convivial party indeed; diplomacy among our various nations might have had a chequered history at times, but on a personal level we were almost all on very good terms.

I found myself seated between George Dangerfield and young Nevsky. Nevsky proved to be a likeable young man, but not entirely at ease in what he saw as such exalted company. I rather wished I had Forrest, my butler in England, with me. Forrest is fond of observing that we are all the same when we... well, it would not be diplomatic to finish the sentence, but his point is nonetheless well made. I made a few attempts to draw him out, but he clearly thought of English lords as terrifying in their splendour. Perhaps he would change his mind about that after spending more time in my company. I imagined he must have known the Prince a long time, otherwise he would never have made an exception of him.

Dangerfield was far more conversational. “Your training stood me in very good stead, my lord,” he said. “The Tsarina is planning to establish a true police force, and she wants me to be in charge of it.”

“That's excellent news,” I replied warmly. “You've clearly worked very hard since we last met.”

He nodded, with a hint of a grin. “Oh yes. You got me off my backside all right. But then, the Tsarina has been very good too, as I'm sure you'll know. The late Tsar Arkadii, God rest him – now he wanted to set up a police force too, rather than having the army keep the peace all the time, and I reckon that was one of the things that got him killed. We've no real proof, but we all think General Sergeyev was behind the assassination. Didn't want to lose any power.”

“Ah, so Gil and I weren't the only ones who suspected him,” I said. “I thought probably not, when the Tsarina transferred him out to Siberia.”

“Indeed. If he did kill Arkadii, he's harmless enough out there, and if he didn't... well, it was somewhere we needed a good general. So the Tsarina wins either way.”

I nodded. “It's a pity there isn't enough evidence either for or against him. I don't like unsolved crimes, even if the victim wasn't someone like Arkadii. He was a good man.”

“Oh, yes, you knew him, didn't you, my lord? I didn't enter the Tsarina's service until after his death – it was when she was in England, of course – and so I never met him. What did you make of him? The Tsarina was obviously very much in love with him; it took her a long time to recover fully from his death.”

“He was very clever and very shrewd,” I replied. “Of all the people I've met in my life who didn't possess the spark themselves, he was by far the best at handling sparks.”

Dangerfield flicked an eyebrow at me. “Haven't you forgotten someone, my lord?”

“Who?” I asked.

“Well, you yourself...”

I laughed. “You flatter me, Dangerfield. But, seriously, I don't count that. I am good at being diplomatic with sparks. Arkadii was good at actually getting them to do what he needed them to do. That is a different, and far rarer, skill.”

“You have a point,” Dangerfield conceded. “I wouldn't know where to start doing that, even if I were the Tsar of all Russia.”

“I suspect the Tsarevna may,” I observed.

We both glanced at Tsarevna Ekaterina, who was deep in conversation with Colette Voltaire (she had kept her maiden name, for rather obvious reasons) at that moment. The Tsarevna had recently broken out as a spark, but not a strong one; in all other respects, however, it was clear that she took after her father much more than her mother. She had that very self-possessed, analytical way about her that Arkadii had had as a young man, and, unlike her mother, she had no problem with languages. She was currently explaining something to Colette in fluent French.

Dangerfield nodded. “Oh, yes, she's a sharp one. She'll make a good ruler, once she gets to it.”

“I remember her father when he wasn't much older than she is now,” I said. “I can certainly see the resemblance.”

“I didn't know you'd known him so long,” said Dangerfield.

“Well, you know about the... ah... incident involving his late uncle, I suppose?”

“Good Lord,” said Dangerfield. “You were around when that happened?”

I grinned. “I orchestrated it.”

Dangerfield guffawed. “You clever old bastard.”

I laughed with him. “Thank you, but could you please watch the language? I'm not sure Her Imperial Majesty would want Ekaterina to hear it.”

He gave me a wry smile. “She uses worse herself when her mother isn't listening. But, all right – that wasn't really a word I should have used at a formal dinner.”

Dinner ended rather late, since we were all chatting so much, and afterwards I decided to have an early night. It had been an interesting and enjoyable day, but I do get tired rather easily now. I said goodnight to everyone and then retired to my cabin, where I was very soon fast asleep. Sadly, I was not destined to sleep for long.

It was about a quarter to midnight when the knocking woke me up. For a moment I thought it was at my door; then, as I struggled back to full consciousness, I realised that it was at one of the adjacent doors. Whoever was doing the knocking, they were getting no response, and the sound was becoming increasingly loud and urgent.

I unhooked my red paisley dressing gown from the back of the door; it was now getting a little shabby, but I had never expected that anyone would actually see it. Throwing it on, I opened my door and peered out.

“Oh!” exclaimed Princess Orlov. “I am so sorry to disturb you, my lord. I had no idea your cabin was here. Have you seen anything of Dangerfield?”

I blinked. “Indeed I have. I was talking with him over dinner. Is something wrong?”

“Yes. He has disappeared. The Tsarevna wanted him for something, and he didn't come when he was called. So I am looking for him now. I can't see where else he could possibly be but in his cabin; but he is not answering.”

I emerged fully into the corridor. “It sounds as though he may be ill. We had better find out, and if necessary get the ship's doctor to him. How does the Tsarevna call him?”

“A spark device. I have a similar one.” She extracted the thing from a waistcoat pocket to show me. It was the size and shape of a pocket watch, with a small buzzer and a set of buttons where the dial would have been. It looked simple enough for a spark device. I nodded.

“It's very small. Could he have mislaid his?” I asked.

The Princess shook her head. “Highly unlikely. He keeps it on a chain around his neck.”

“Then we had better find a way into his cabin,” I said. “Could you find Professor Hoffmann, please? He will know how to do it. He has always had a talent for getting into places he wasn't strictly supposed to get into.”

“I will,” she promised. “And I'm so sorry again that I woke you.”

“Think nothing of it,” I said. “If this is, as I fear, a medical emergency, I'm only too happy to be able to assist.”

Hoffmann arrived at a run, with the Princess following at a more sedate pace. By this time, I was not only fully awake but fully dressed; I am not one to stand on my dignity, but I was still not sure I wanted half the ship to see me in an ancient dressing gown. He took one look at the lock and grinned.

“Stand back, Ardsley,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “I hope you're not going to blow it up.”

“Credit me with a little more subtlety than that. No, but the door may well fly open, and I don't want it to hit you.”

“They open inwards,” I pointed out.

“Oh. Yes. Right. Well, then...” He produced something from a trouser pocket and stuck it into the keyhole. The door did, indeed, fly open.

“Non-Euclidean physics?” I enquired.

Hoffmann did not answer. He was staring into the room, a look of horror on his face.

“What...?” I began.

“Stand aside,” the Princess commanded.

Hoffmann found words. “No, Your Highness, I think you really should...”

“I may be old, but I am not a delicate flower,” said the Princess firmly. “Is that not true, my Lord Heversham?”

“It is,” I confirmed. I stepped up beside her. “What is happening in there?”

Hoffmann stood aside, defeated. “See for yourselves,” he replied, unhappily.

Dangerfield was hanging by his tie from the light fitting, stone dead.

* * * * *

“Oh, this is terrible!” said the Princess. “Poor man. I had not the slightest idea he was suicidal, or I would have said something to the Tsarina.”

“Your Highness,” I said, as levelly as I could manage, “this is not suicide.”

Both of them wheeled round to stare at me. “What?!” said Hoffmann.

“You're both aware that I used to be a spy,” I said. “It is an inevitable and unfortunate fact that, in that profession, one tends to see dead bodies. Sometimes one even has to cause their death, though I always tried to avoid that as much as possible. I know very well what a person who has died by hanging looks like. Poor Dangerfield didn't die by hanging. He was already dead when he was strung up there.”

“But in that case,” Hoffmann protested, “where's the person who did it? The cabin was locked from the inside. You had to call me to get into it.”

My eyes automatically went to the window. “Well, Jimenez, you and I both know how to climb around on the outside of an airship, even if I at least am no longer physically up to it. I suspect we're not the only ones here who can do that trick.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said the Princess. “I must go and take the dreadful news to the Tsarina.”

“Of course,” I replied, bowing slightly.

When she had gone, Hoffmann shook his head. “The more I think about it, the more I think you're right,” he admitted. “I'm not as experienced in these matters as you, but even I know there's normally facial discoloration with hanging, and that poor devil looks as fresh as a daisy up there. Except for the obvious fact of being dead. Hadn't we better cut him down and lay him out?”

“No,” I replied. “This is a murder case. We need to leave everything untouched as far as possible until the police have had a chance to...” I broke off. “Oh, good Lord. What am I saying? What police force can we get in to investigate this? I suppose it all depends whose airspace we were in at the time he died...”

“We can't get any police force,” replied Hoffmann decisively. “We can't keep our hosts waiting, not even for a murder enquiry. Things are too delicate. We're going to have to solve this one ourselves.” He looked at me speculatively. “And... didn't you solve that string of murders in Grauburg?”

“Well, yes,” I said, “but...”

“No buts! You are now Lord Detective Heversham, official investigator, and I'm your Watson. Or whatever.”

There is something about Hoffmann. I think it is his unflagging enthusiasm. No matter who you are or what your original intentions, once he decides he is going to drag you into something, you will be dragged; and, what is more, you will probably end up enjoying it.

“Well, I...” I began.

I did not have a chance to finish the sentence, which was, perhaps, just as well, as I was not a hundred per cent sure what I was about to say. The Tsarina and the Tsarevna were in the doorway, accompanied by Gil, Colette, the Princess, Tarvek, Dmitri, and a fair-skinned Uralic-looking woman with a black medical case who was clearly the ship's doctor.

“You say this is murder, my lord?” asked the Tsarina, wide-eyed.

“I'm afraid so, Your Imperial Majesty,” I replied. “Please don't come any further into the room, any of you.”

“Lord Heversham is going to investigate it,” Hoffmann explained. I do believe that if he had had a tail, he would have wagged it.

“Not my idea,” I said.

“It wouldn't be,” Gil retorted, “but if Hoffmann hadn't already talked you into it, I would have done. You did a brilliant job in Grauburg.”

Agatha arrived at this point, with the Jäger squad in tow. “What on earth is going on?” she asked.

“Apparently someone has hanged our bodyguard,” replied Ekaterina drily. “Although it is, of course, a personal loss, I suspect that political considerations will turn out to be more relevant.”

“You really are just like your father,” I observed, half under my breath. I do not think the Tsarevna heard me.

“Dey did?” said Oggie. “Ve find dem for hyu und den ve tump dem goot.”

“Eediot,” growled Dimo. “Vot makes hyu tink iz goink to be so easy?”

“Der Earl iz here,” Maxim pointed out. “He vill find dem. Den, vunce he has done dot, ve go und tump dem goot like hyu say.”

“Er... thank you all very much for your confidence,” I said, a little weakly. It was well past midnight now, and, murder or no murder, I needed my sleep.

Maxim grinned at me, showing all his impressive teeth. “Hyu iz a schmot keed,” he said.

I had to laugh. Only a Jäger could possibly ever think of me as any kind of kid. “Lord Heversham,” said the Tsarina, “are you quite certain this isn't suicide?”

I nodded, and explained briefly why. Meanwhile, Hoffmann was carefully examining the body to see if he could find any trace of how Dangerfield was actually killed, but so far he was drawing a blank.

“We ought to cut him down,” he said. “I can't reach to look at his head properly.”

“I'm probably going to regret asking this,” I said, “but has anyone here got an iconograph, or, if not, could you build one? I could do with some pictures of the scene of the crime before we move the poor blighter.”

“I can build one,” Agatha offered, at once.

“And I can help,” added Tarvek smoothly.

“No, you won't. I'll do the helping,” said Gil pugnaciously.

I rolled my eyes. “I knew I'd regret asking.”

“You need not, my lord,” replied the Tsarina, “because I have, in fact, brought one. Princess Orlov, please go and find it and put it at his lordship's disposal. I would like this unfortunate matter cleared up as soon as possible.”

I bowed. “Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“But not tonight,” said Gil firmly. “Ardsley, take the advice of your best friend and go back to bed. It's a bad business, but it can still wait till the morning.”

“I would have thought that was my decision, Herr Baron,” said the Tsarina. She owed Gil a great deal, and therefore she was not frosty with him, as she might have been with anyone else; but she still sounded a little ruffled.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” replied Gil, not to be cowed, “for one thing, Ardsley's been shanghaied into this; for another, he's not a particularly well man; and, for a third thing, he's not one of your subjects. Oh, and for a fourth, you do owe him quite a lot of favours, if you recall. So let the man go back to bed. I'm sure you can see he looks bloody awful.”

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Gil had put it a little harshly, but he was quite right. I did, in fact, look bloody awful.

“I should examine the body,” the doctor protested.

“I'll take charge for now,” Hoffmann offered. “I'm not tired. I'll make sure we get plenty of photographs, and then I'll cut him down and the doctor here can look at him.” He paused. “What about... after that?”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, he's going to need burying, isn't he? Do we stop and drop him off in Moscow or somewhere like that?”

“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” I replied. “We can think about all that when we've seen to the other things. And now, if you will all excuse me, I am going to take the excellent advice of my good friend Gil here.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hoffmann led me off to one of the smaller lounges immediately after breakfast. He must have been up half the night, but he showed no signs of weariness. “I have some pictures for you,” he said, beaming.

“That was quick,” I said. “Did you develop them yourself?”

“Certainly did.” He produced a manilla folder from under his arm, and spread out the contents in front of me.

“Impressive. Are you any closer to finding out the cause of death?”

“Dr Grigorian says it was blunt trauma to the brain. Someone, to use Oggie's phrase, tumped heem goot.”

I frowned. “Well, that asks more questions than it solves. Dangerfield was a capable bodyguard, and I should know, because I trained him myself at one point. How the hell did anyone manage to do that to him?”

“I suppose he would hardly have been expecting them to try it,” said Hoffmann, with a hint of a shrug.

“That much is clear,” I replied, “but I'd have expected him to react a great deal faster once they did. He certainly wasn't drunk. Did the doctor find any evidence that he had been drugged?”

Hoffmann's face fell a little. “I didn't think to ask,” he confessed.

“Never mind. We can still ask her, I'm sure,” I said. I studied the photographs. “You've been very thorough in every other respect. I think you've captured everything there possibly was to capture.”

He nodded. “I was looking for the murder weapon, but it wasn't in the room. There were no traces of blood on the floor, either.”

“Are you sure it wasn't in the room?” I asked. “There are all manner of expensive knick-knacks in this place, and some of them are quite heavy. My cabin has a statuette of an elephant in it. Exquisite, but also solid bronze. I would use it without hesitation to defend myself if anyone broke in with murderous intent.”

“I thought of that,” said Hoffmann, with a touch of pride. “I checked everything.”

“Good,” I replied.

“Notice anything about the photographs that I didn't?” asked Hoffmann hopefully.

I frowned a little. “H'mm... let me see. Well, there is, of course, the window.”

“Which is fastened from the inside, like the door,” said Hoffmann. “And that rather blows our initial theory out of the water.”

“It does,” I agreed. “Nonetheless, dead people do not fasten doors or windows, and murderers do not simply evaporate into thin air. There must be some sensible explanation.”

“Beats me, though,” said Hoffmann.

“I have been known to unbolt and then rebolt a door from the opposite side,” I mused. “It required a powerful electromagnet and a Jäger.”

“Well, Jägers we have, but there's no way anyone could have got one of them to co-operate,” Hoffmann replied. “Certainly, they'd have killed him if they believed he was a serious threat to Agatha; but if they'd done it, they'd have been quite open about it. And what about the electromagnet?”

“I agree with you entirely about the Jägers. They do not, on the whole, go in for cloak-and-dagger stuff; certainly these three don't. What's more, I very much doubt that Dangerfield was any kind of threat to Agatha. We'd have known about it if he was. Who else do we have on board with the strength and the knowledge to pull off something like that?”

“There's Commander Tatiana,” said Hoffmann doubtfully. “She's clever, she's as strong as any of the Jägers, and she's originally Russian, even if she does work for the House of Sturmvoraus now. Could there be any connection?”

“I don't know,” I replied. “I very much hope it isn't Tatiana; Dimo would be heartbroken. Still, you're quite right. I think she had better be the first person I speak to.”

Hoffmann was silent for a moment, considering. Then he asked, “You said you trained him for a while. Do you know anything about him from his past? I mean... I think this is probably a political crime, and whoever did it will have a go at either the Tsarina or the Tsarevna next, but we do also have to look at the possibility that it isn't.”

“That has, unfortunately, crossed my mind,” I replied. “For what it's worth, I agree with you. I'm afraid our Mr Dangerfield wasn't always such a fine upstanding citizen. He was expelled from Winchester, for a start.”

“How on earth do you know that?” asked Hoffmann, startled.

“Because I was there at the time,” I replied. “He later blamed me for his expulsion. I was... blunt with him.”

Hoffmann grinned. “I know you don't do that unless there's a need for it. I suppose he must have taken it pretty well, since you ended up training him.”

“Oh, he did in the end. I struck a nerve, which was quite a relief, since I didn't think he had any left. Yes, he's been doing very well since then; once he faced up to the fact that it was his own appalling behaviour that got him expelled, not me or anyone else, it made quite a difference to him. I suppose it is rather difficult to address and amend one's faults if one is constantly blaming other people for them.” I sighed. “It seems wrong to speak ill of the dead; but you are absolutely right that this is relevant. There may well be someone here with an old grudge against him who has seized the opportunity to make it look, first like suicide, and then like a political murder.”

“Yes; or it may, in fact, simply be a political murder. We're still in the dark, Ardsley.”

“I'm afraid so,” I agreed.

“Could I ask what exactly he did to get expelled? Would it be anything that someone might want to kill him for?”

“Possibly, if he continued to do it in adult life,” I replied. “Bullying. Not just the usual horseplay, but severe bullying of the kind that resulted in both physical and mental damage.”

Hoffmann's eyes widened. “Did he ever do that to you?”

“He tried it once,” I replied, matter-of-factly, “and then I hit him.”

* * * * *

As promised, I interviewed Tatiana first. The big were-samoyed remembered me well, and was clearly keen to be as helpful as she could.

“It is a bad business,” she said. “Tarvek and Prince Dmitri are lending me to the Tsarina and her daughter, so that they will not be short of a bodyguard.”

“Oh, I'm delighted to hear that,” I replied. “We'd have lent them our clank, but that would have left me rather stuck. I don't, ah, bend awfully well these days.”

“I am not surprised, my lord, after what you did to your back,” replied Tatiana. “How can I help you?”

“Well, first of all, perhaps you could tell me if you noticed anyone missing last night after I went to bed,” I suggested. “I said goodnight to everyone a little after ten, and Dangerfield was there at the time. I think all of us were.”

She considered. “You were the first of us to go to bed, but after that several people left us at short intervals. I really can't remember what order they left in. All I can tell you is that I was still up when the Princess came in to tell the Tsarina that the poor man had been murdered. I didn't go with the others; there was nothing I could do for a dead man.”

“And you were in the lounge with the others between ten and midnight, or thereabouts? Forgive me for asking, Commander Tatiana; I have to be clear about everyone's movements.”

“Of course. I am not offended; such questions have to be asked. Yes, I was, apart from a few minutes I took to powder my nose. Dimo will confirm that, and so will Maxim and Oggie.”

I nodded. “Thank you. Did you notice anyone else leave for any significant time?”

“I'm very sorry. I can't help you. You see, Dimo and I have not seen each other since the war with Arroyo...” I did not know that a were-samoyed could blush, but this one certainly could in her human form.

“I understand,” I assured her. “And were you in any way acquainted with Mr Dangerfield before you boarded this airship? I am trying to find out if anyone knows anything about him which might explain his death.”

She shook her head. “No, I had never met him before. I was very surprised when I found out that he was English. I had heard him talking with the Tsarevna in Russian, and he was perfectly fluent.”

“Well, he did live in Russia for a long time,” I replied. “Thank you, Commander; you've been as helpful as you could. I think I had better speak to the Tsarina next.”

Tsarina Elisaveta could add very little to Tatiana's information. She had paid no more attention to the order in which people went to bed than Tatiana had. She confirmed the fact that Tarvek and Dmitri were lending her Tatiana as a temporary replacement, and thought that she would be a very good one; other than that, she was of no great help. I did not press her too hard. She was clearly upset about the whole affair, since Dangerfield had been a good bodyguard to her for several years now.

Next, I interviewed the Tsarevna. Young Ekaterina was also upset, but, as she had been the night before, she was a great deal more controlled about it than her mother, betraying her emotions only by the occasional catch in her voice.

“I am quite sure this is a political crime, my lord,” she announced, as she entered. “Find out who on board this ship is trying to kill my mother or myself, and you will have found the person who killed poor Mr Dangerfield.”

“We are looking at that as one of the possibilities, Your Royal Highness,” I replied, “but it is only fair to tell you that it is not the only one. Mr Dangerfield had a past that was not entirely reputable.”

“He never gave either of us the slightest cause for complaint,” she said, with a touch of hauteur.

“Indeed not; he genuinely liked you, and that, I think, was one of the main things that enabled him to turn his life round. Now, with your permission, I must ask you a few questions. First of all, do you remember when you sent for Mr Dangerfield?”

“Yes; it would have been about half past eleven. I wanted him to run a security check on my cabin before I went to bed. It is routine; we do this even at home. One never knows who may have got in during the day.”

“Quite so,” I replied. It was understandable that she and the Tsarina should be somewhat on the paranoid side regarding security after what had happened to Tsar Arkadii. “Did you call him just once?”

“No; twice. When he failed to appear the first time, I called him again a few minutes later. I used this.” She produced a device almost identical to the one Princess Orlov had shown me.

“Ah, yes,” I said. “The Princess told me about that. Did you or your mother make it?”

“My mother did. A few of our most trusted staff have them.”

“In what capacity does the Princess serve you?” I asked.

Ekaterina hesitated for a moment, looking down. Then she met my gaze. “Well,” she said, “Mother clearly trusts you, and you have helped us both a great deal. Officially, she is our general assistant.”

“And unofficially... what? Spy, by any chance?”

Ekaterina grinned ruefully. “We prefer to call her an intelligence agent. But, yes, that is what she is. She is old, she is unusual, and she is quite flamboyant even now. Sometimes, a person like that is the last anyone would suspect.”

I laughed. “Ah, I was always the other kind of spy; the sort who is very good at blending with the scenery. But I do understand very well. I'm sure she is excellent at her job. She is no fool.”

“Oh, indeed. She came to Mother's attention shortly after we returned to Russia. Her stepson was that idiotic young Andropov who was installed as puppet Tsar by whoever was really behind the coup. Though that was in no way her fault, she wanted to make some amends on his behalf; and he could hardly make them himself, having been shot. I assume that was done by someone on his own side who feared he might reveal however much of the plot he knew now that things were starting to unravel for them. Well, we took her up on her offer; she seemed like just the person we needed, and, as it turned out, she was.”

I nodded. “She is a most remarkable lady. But we digress. When Mr Dangerfield still failed to arrive, you sent the Princess to look for him. About what time would that have been?”

“About twenty to midnight. I was starting to worry about him. It was unprecedented that he should not come when called.”

“Did either you or your mother consider that the device might have failed?” I asked.

“No, because we knew it had not,” the Tsarevna replied. “There is a failsafe mechanism built in. If any of the subsidiary devices fail, they will stop signalling to my mother's device and my own, and a warning light will come on to alert us. There was no warning light. Dangerfield's device was working normally last night.”

“Ah, thank you; that is useful to know,” I said. “That means we can be quite clear that he was dead by half past eleven. Do you happen to recall what time he went to bed?”

“About eleven. I didn't check the time, since I had no reason to do so, but I doubt it was more than a few minutes either side of the hour.”

“H'mm. That narrows down the time of death considerably. Did you notice anyone leave the room between Dangerfield going to bed and the first time you tried to call him?”

The Tsarevna frowned. “I'm sure one or two people did, but I couldn't possibly say who. Let me think... Mamma and I were still up, of course. So were the Baron, his administrator, Lady Heterodyne and Madame Voltaire. And there were the Jägers, playing cards in a corner with Commander Tatiana. Oh, and Professor Hoffmann was playing draughts with the Storm King.”

“I imagine that was an interesting game,” I said. “So, let me see. The Wulfenbach contingent is all accounted for, and likewise the Mechanicsburg contingent. H'mm... there are four people you haven't mentioned: M Jouvert, Mlle Rameau, Prince Dmitri and Herr Nevsky. Would you happen to recall anything about their movements?”

“If I recall correctly, Jouvert went to bed a few minutes after you did. Yes, that's right; he said he had a headache. I should not be in the least surprised if he did, since he seems to be in a permanent foul mood.”

“Thank you; I think I shall speak to him next, in that case. What about the others?”

Ekaterina considered. “I can't recall anything about Mlle Rameau. She is a very pleasant person, but she is so quiet that she ought to be one of those spies you mentioned earlier, the type that blends into the scenery. Dmitri said goodnight to us just after eleven, but I don't remember whether or not Herr Nevsky had already gone to bed. He, too, is rather quiet, as I'm sure you have noticed.”

“Indeed; I was sitting next to him at dinner, and it proved very difficult to get him into conversation. He seems a little overawed.”

The Tsarevna was too well-bred to snort, as such, but she gave the same general impression without actually doing so. “He has no reason to be. He works for the Storm King.”

“Ah; but Tarvek, though it may surprise you, is quite informal on his own ground,” I explained. “Even Agatha is more formal with most of her staff, except the ones who are also close friends such as the Jägers here.”

“You know him well, then?” asked the Tsarevna.

When one is speaking to the heir to the Russian throne, one does not remind her that one is supposed to be asking the questions. “Yes,” I replied simply. “We have a rather complicated friendly rivalry. I think that may be the best way of putting it.”

“He is a strange man. Very interesting. Dmitri doesn't talk much about him, though they clearly get on very well.”

“That will be all to do with diplomatic relations, Your Royal Highness,” I replied. “After all, family or no family, Prince Dmitri will now be the next Storm King, and Sturmhalten has always tended to keep its cards rather close to its chest.”

“I'm well aware of that, my lord; what I was driving at was this. What do you think of him?”

“You are so very much like your father,” I said. “What do I think of Tarvek? I think he is a man who is far better than he likes to pretend he is. He is certainly slippery and devious, and he takes a pride in being able to out-think those around him, but one of the reasons he likes me so much is that I am capable of being just as devious as he is. He likes to set me puzzles and watch me solve them. Of course, I don't always know straight away that I am being set one of Tarvek's puzzles. Part of the puzzle is usually to work out when it is there.”

“You, my lord? Devious?”

I shrugged. “I was a spy. It was necessary. Nonetheless, I am not ashamed of my devious streak. If I didn't have it, I should never be able to catch those who are also devious and inclined to use it against others.” I paused. “So the Prince left you around eleven, Herr Nevsky within a few minutes either side of that – before or after Mr Dangerfield, do you recall?”

“I believe they left almost together,” replied Ekaterina.

“Very well. M Jouvert went to bed a little after ten, and you remember nothing at all about Mlle Rameau. Have I summarised correctly?”

“You have, my lord.”

“And is there anything else you can recall about last night that you think I should know?”

She shook her head. “I don't think so; but if anything comes to mind, I shall be sure to tell you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You have been a most helpful witness.”

I spoke to M Jouvert next. He was surly and not very co-operative, but that was only to be expected, since he clearly did not like me. He said he had gone to bed with a headache at ten past ten, which tied in with what the highly observant Ekaterina had said. I asked him politely if he was feeling any better, and he said he was not, which no doubt went the rest of the way towards explaining his attitude. Nothing he said entirely ruled him out as the murderer, but for one thing he had no apparent motive, and for another thing he was a rather short man. I did not see any way he could have strung Dangerfield up from the light fitting without a stepladder.

Mlle Rameau followed her compatriot. She was a complete and welcome contrast; though she was quiet by nature, she was not in any way shy. She had almost as good a memory as the Tsarevna, and she was keen to help. She said she had been watching the Jägers and Tatiana play cards, and gone to bed about a quarter past eleven. Like M Jouvert, she said she had never met Dangerfield before boarding the airship.

I then interviewed Leonid Nevsky; this started very awkwardly until I assured him that I knew perfectly well what was going on between him and Prince Dmitri, and none of the Russian contingent would ever find out about it from me. After that, he opened up a good deal out of sheer relief, but he had nothing very important to tell me. He said he went to bed just after eleven, and he had not been acquainted with Dangerfield.

After that, I spoke to everyone else for completeness, although there was no way any of them could have killed Dangerfield, since they were all together in the main lounge at the time he was killed. It was just possible that one of them might have some important piece of information that might otherwise be overlooked. Nobody did, however, or if they did, they did not choose to share it with me. The Princess was with me for the shortest time, since she was still somewhat distraught; Tarvek, on the other hand, took quite a while to interview, as he insisted on telling me all his most convoluted theories as to how the crime could have been committed. I let him rattle on in case he stumbled on anything remotely likely, but unfortunately he did not. None of the suggestions he offered could possibly have been achieved without a fully equipped spark laboratory, and there was none on board.

By the time I had spoken to everyone, I was going to have to hurry if I wanted lunch. I went over to the floor-length curtains that surrounded the main window and tweaked one of them.

“You can come out now,” I said. “And we should move, or we'll miss lunch.”

Hoffmann emerged, looking rumpled but cheerful. “I got everything down,” he said.

“Well done,” I replied. “Anything strike you in all that?”

“Nope. I'm stumped. You?”

“Same here. But we'll go over all your notes together once we've eaten, and see if we can put the information into some kind of order and spot anything that doesn't quite tally.”

“Sounds good to me. Have I time to lock them in my cabin?”

“No. But old habits die hard. I've got a secret pocket in the back of my waistcoat. Put them in there.”

He grinned. “Are you quite sure you're not still a spy?”

“Quite sure, thank the Lord. It had its interesting moments, but I'm much happier as a diplomat. Still, a diplomat does still sometimes need to use a few spy tricks, and that's one of them.”

“As a kind of diplomat myself, I think I ought to learn that one,” he said. “There! Done. Now let's go and eat. I'm ravenous.”

Thankfully, we were not too late to be served. While we were waiting for the soup, Hoffmann leaned across the table a little way and said, “You know, I've been thinking. Everyone here said they didn't know Dangerfield, except, naturally, for the Tsarina and her group. And you, of course.”

“Do you think one of them did?” I asked.

“Well, it's possible. I suppose you don't know what happened to him after he was expelled, do you?”

“Only what he told me later,” I replied. “He was sent to another school which he wouldn't name, no doubt considering it a great come-down after having been at Winchester. Then, if I remember rightly, he failed to get a university place and consequently ended up working at some London firm, a job which I'm fairly sure his father pulled several strings to get for him. His father was the Earl of Barchester; I don't know if you knew that.”

Hoffmann stared at me. “You mean Dangerfield was actually an earl? What the hell was he doing working as a bodyguard?”

“No, Jiminez; he was a younger son. His brother is the Earl now, and I'm not sure they ever had much to do with each other after he was expelled. But, yes, if he'd managed to behave himself a little better at Winchester, he would certainly have been more than a bodyguard. As it turned out, he became a very good one, and it seemed to suit him; so things did work out quite well for him after all, in the end.” I paused. “Until now, of course,” I added sombrely.

“H'mm,” said Hoffmann. “That leads to the question of who inherits. Presumably, even as the younger son of a peer, he'd have got a considerable sum of money when his father died.”

“That I don't know,” I replied. “It's quite possible his father disinherited him. Even if he didn't, it's more than likely that his estate would pass to his brother. In the absence of any astonishing new information, I'd say we can probably rule out money as a motive.”

“He didn't have a lady friend... or a gentleman friend... or anyone like that?” asked Hoffmann. “Oh, no. Of course he didn't. You asked the Princess.”

I nodded. “I'm more concerned about that locked door... ah, here's the soup!”

After lunch, we went to my cabin to go through the notes. It was tedious work and I will not bore my readers with the details; suffice it to say that after a couple of hours and a large pot of coffee between us, we had got no further.

Hoffmann was sitting with his chin in his hands. “So far,” he admitted glumly, “it looks as though some completely unknown person teleported into Dangerfield's cabin between eleven o'clock and half past last night, bashed him over the head hard enough to kill him even though he was a highly experienced bodyguard, strung him up on the light fitting, and then teleported out again afterwards, taking their blunt instrument with them.”

“That's an entirely accurate synopsis of what we have on the face of things,” I agreed. “However, since that is impossible... what is it Mr Holmes says? Whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be true.”

“Then nothing is true,” replied Hoffmann, “because we've got nothing else.”

“It must all be there,” I insisted. “People don't commit murder and leave no trace whatsoever. There will be something important that we've either missed, or, more likely, is being deliberately hidden from us. Maybe both.”

“Unless it was the Princess after all,” said Hoffmann. His apologetic expression was that of one who was well aware that this might be a sensitive topic, but felt duty bound to say it anyway. “I mean, she needn't have knocked on his door immediately.”

“My dear Jiminez, I'm not in the least offended, so take that hangdog look off your face,” I said. “Of course she has to be considered. Everyone does. You, me, even the Tsarina and the Tsarevna. But I'm pretty sure it isn't personal considerations which have led me to rule her out. She's old. What chance do you think she'd have had against someone the size of Dangerfield, no matter how much he was taken by surprise? And how in the name of all wonder could she have got him up there? No; whoever we're looking for, they have to be pretty strong.”

“Which also rules out Antoine Jouvert, Elodie Rameau, and probably young Nevsky,” said Hoffmann. “He was heavy. I know, because it was all the doctor and I could do between us to get him down without dropping him. It would pretty much have taken a Jäger to get him up there, but we know very well none of the Jägers did it. Nor Tatiana, who's about as strong.”

“Indeed. They were all in the lounge until late, and can be vouched for,” I said. “It's certainly very mysterious. But... well, perhaps I had better pretend it's one of Tarvek's little puzzles. That way, I may be better able to solve it.”

“You're absolutely sure it isn't, I suppose?”

“Quite sure. Tarvek will do a lot of underhanded things if pushed, but murdering someone just to watch another person solve the case is very far from being his style. Besides, this has put him to some inconvenience; he's felt obliged to lend out Tatiana, which I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted to do.”

“Point taken,” said Hoffmann. “So, now what do we do, Ardsley?”

“Show me those photographs again,” I replied. “In particular, the ones you took of the lock, the window fastening, and the ceiling. And this time I want a magnifying glass, if you can find one. We might ask the Princess if she uses one for reading.”

“Oh, no need,” replied Hoffmann, recovering some of his usual aplomb. “Colette does. But don't tell her I told you. She's as sensitive about her eyesight as Gil is about his hair.”

I gaped. “How the hell do you know about Gil's hair?”

He laughed. “I've known you a long time, remember? You still pull _that face_ when anyone says something unintentionally ironic. You pulled it when I commented on Gil's fine head of hair the other day.”

“Oh,” I said, sheepishly. “What face?”

“You kind of look as if you're constipated,” he explained, helpfully.

“I shouldn't have asked,” I replied.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Hoffmann got round to suggesting we bug everyone's cabins, I realised it was high time to take a break. “Honestly, Jiminez,” I said, “that would be a completely unwarranted invasion of privacy. Besides, I don't walk around with my pockets full of surveillance devices.” I refrained from mentioning that Tarvek very probably did; it would not have helped.

“Well, there's no need to snap,” he chided.

I sighed. “Sorry. We're both getting a little stressed. Suppose we go off and have a cup of tea or something, separately, so that we can't keep discussing the case? Then we can meet up again at... how does six o'clock sound? That should give both of us a chance to unwind.”

“You're right,” said Hoffmann. “Yes, six sounds good. And shall we make it my cabin this time, just in case anyone thinks of bugging yours?”

“Tarvek's already tried. It's all part of the game,” I replied, smiling. “It's got to the stage where I should be quite disappointed if he didn't attempt to bug me. But, yes, certainly we can meet in your cabin.”

I wandered off towards the bar, where I found Gil and Donatella talking business. Gil looked up as I entered.

“Oh, Ardsley,” he said. “Want to join us?”

“Certainly. I'll just get a drink,” I replied.

Donatella looked mildly surprised when I carefully set down a cup of tea on the table and pulled up one of the enormous armchairs. “When you said a drink,” she said, “I thought you meant a _drink_ drink.”

“Not at this time of day,” I replied, sitting down. “Tea. The cup that cheers but not inebriates. Sterling stuff, and I really need it at the moment.”

“Not getting anywhere with the case yet, then?” asked Gil.

“No.” I took a welcome sip. “But I don't give up easily, and neither does Hoffmann.”

“Do you think it's political?” asked Gil.

“Maybe. Maybe not. We're both keeping a completely open mind on that one. It's a good job I know something of Dangerfield's history, since otherwise we'd both automatically have assumed it was political; but, given his past, it may well turn out to be more complicated than that.”

“Of course it's political, my lord,” said Donatella firmly. “He was the Tsarina's bodyguard. I don't have to tell you about all the unrest there has been in Russia, and Tsar Arkadii's assassination was never cleared up. Mark my words, the same people will be behind this murder. There are plenty of Russians on board this ship, including the doctor. Any of them could be working for the Tsarina's enemies.”

“You've got a point,” said Gil. “One of the staff would certainly have had the opportunity to get into Dangerfield's cabin. They would have keys, or at least some of them would.”

“We have considered that,” I replied. “Briefly. Because none of them would have a device like the one Hoffmann used to get into the room, which not only unlocked the door but shot back the bolt.”

Gil slapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh! Stupid of me. Of course.”

“And are you quite sure Dangerfield bolted it?” asked Donatella.

“Someone did,” I replied, simply. “I am still not clear how the crime was committed, but I'm becoming increasingly certain of one thing: the murderer had access to spark technology. It's the only way I can see to explain why the door was locked and bolted. What kind of spark technology I still don't know, but I am sure we can rule out the staff. Whoever killed poor Dangerfield was, I'm afraid, one of us.”

“Yes, my lord, but if someone was working for the Russian insurgency, they could have been supplied with the right technology,” Donatella persisted.

“Doesn't work,” I replied, briskly. “If that were the case, they'd have gone straight for either the Tsarina or the Tsarevna. They would hardly have raised the alarm by killing the bodyguard when he wasn't actually guarding anyone's body.”

“So the murderer had a gadget like Hoffmann's, you think?” said Gil. “The two French staff weren't in the lounge when he was killed. Could either of them have got hold of something similar?”

“That is possible,” I agreed, “but neither of them could have strung him up. M Jouvert is not tall enough, and Mlle Rameau is not strong enough.”

“Could they have done it working together?” asked Donatella.

“Perhaps. We don't know yet.” I took another long sip of tea, and it was at that point that an idea struck me. Hoffmann's original idea about bugging the rooms was not the best he had had, but it did suggest something else. “Gil. Could I use the clank?”

“It's at your disposal,” Gil replied promptly, “but what exactly did you want to do with it?”

“I want it to stand around and listen to people, and then report back to me,” I explained. “People will sometimes talk in front of a clank as if it wasn't there. First of all, does it have a recording facility or will it just have to remember like a human; and, secondly, exactly how good is its hearing? I'm aware that it's excellent, but I'd like to know just what we can expect it to be able to do.”

Gil nodded. “It will record, and its hearing is probably good enough to catch any conversation from any point in the main lounge, wherever it is in there. But the murderer is still hardly going to discuss the crime in the lounge.”

“No,” I replied, “but we are missing some crucial information which someone here knows, and they aren't telling us, either because they are deliberately hiding it or because they have no idea that it has any bearing on the case. If that information crops up in casual conversation, I want to know about it.”

“That's a sensible idea, my lord,” said Donatella. “Why don't I go and sort that out for you while you talk to the Baron? It'll save you a bit of trouble.”

“Oh, thank you, Donatella,” I said. “That's very decent of you.”

As she departed, Gil observed, “I really ought to give that clank a name, but I can't think of one. Got any ideas, Ardsley?”

“What sort of name were you looking for?” I hedged.

“Something original. I'm getting a bit fed up with Ludwigs and Hermanns.”

“Horatio?”

Gil shrugged. “That's as good as anything.”

* * * * *

I was on my way to Hoffmann's cabin when I met Maxim walking in the opposite direction. “How hyu doink, Earl?” he asked.

“Not too well at the moment,” I replied. “But I'm glad I've run into you, because I'd like your professional opinion on something. You're obviously very good at estimating the strength of humans. Which of our party would have been strong enough to hoist Dangerfield's body up in the air like that?”

Maxim grinned. “Vell, us. Und Miz Tatiana. But hyu know very vell ve din do it.”

“Indeed, Maxim, but is there anyone else?”

“Not on deir own. Not vitout zumting like a pulley. Der Prince iz der schtrongest of de humans, but I dun tink even he could haff done it.” He paused. “Vell, maybe he could if he had his liddle friend vit him. But vy vould dey haff vanted to?”

I shrugged. “Why would anyone have wanted to? What about M Jouvert and Mlle Rameau? Do you think they could have managed it between them?”

Maxim snorted with amusement. “Not a chance. Und even if dey could, dey vouldn't haff. Dey dun even like each other.”

“M Jouvert doesn't seem to like anyone very much,” I observed.

“Ach, he got a thistle up hiz...”

I coughed discreetly.

“Vell, hyu know vot hy mean, Earl. Hyu iz right. He dun like anyvun. Dun know vot he iz doink beink a lecturer. Hy should tink de schtudents run rings round heem. Und Miz Rameau iz very nize, but she iz not zo nize dot she vill put up vit heem.”

“Ah, yes, she said she was watching you play cards last night,” I said.

“Ho yez. She vos. She dun say much, but vhen she does tok, she iz fun. Oggie vanted her to join us, but she dun know de rules. Zo, Oggie said he vould teach her.” He grinned knowingly. “Hy tink Oggie iz in luff again. Dot iz qvite zumtink. She haz not even hit heem yet.”

“Ah, the intricacies of Jäger romance,” I said, with a smile.

“Ve iz not as complicated as de Mistress,” Maxim pointed out innocently. “Hyu know vot hy reckon? Hy tink she ought to forget about both der Gil und der Tarvek und marry zumvun vot can tell der Kestle vot iz vot.”

“And who would that be?” I enquired.

“Vy, a Jäger, of course!”

* * * * *

“Your idea wasn't entirely a bad one,” I said to Hoffmann, settling into a chair. “While I'm not in favour of spying on people in their bedrooms unless we have very clear reasons to suspect them, I have no objection to doing it in public places. I've co-opted our clank to assist.” Briefly, I explained what Horatio was going to do.

“Neat move,” he replied, approvingly. “Are you now rested and refreshed?”

“I am full of tea, which is the same thing,” I said. “And you?”

“Coffee. And a most delicious chocolate eclair. Have you tried them?”

“Alas, I can no longer eat sweet things,” I replied, “but they do some very good cheese straws here, so I am not missing out.”

“You're very philosophical about that,” Hoffmann observed. “I think it'd kill me.”

“One gets used to it,” I replied. “Especially since eating too much sugar would, actually, kill me. I have diabetes.”

“Oh, I'm sorry!”

I shrugged. “It's pretty well controlled. Nonetheless, I have to avoid doing anything silly, such as eating chocolate eclairs. I wouldn't have believed I could adapt to it either, but it is amazing what one can adapt to when one really must.”

He nodded. “That's a fair point. And while you were arranging for the services of the clank, I've been somewhat busy myself. There's a limit to what I can build here, lacking the proper facilities; but I have thrown this little thing together.” He reached under the table, and produced a box – for want of a better word – about the size of a set of dominoes, which he eyed with a certain distaste. It was an inelegant conglomeration of mismatched components, not at all like his usual creations.

“And what does the little thing do?” I asked.

“The little thing,” he replied, “is designed to analyse Dangerfield's communicator. Remember the Tsarevna said it emitted a constant signal, and if it failed, the signal would stop and she and the Tsarina would be alerted? We know it was still working when he was killed, so I thought we might be able to use it to trace his exact movements in the last half-hour or so of his life.”

“Jiminez,” I said, “that's genius.”

He grinned. “It is if it works! But I'm pretty sure it will. We'll need to go back to Dangerfield's cabin to test it.”

We did. It had been locked again by the staff, but, of course, only from the outside. The door-opening device did its work easily. “I suppose,” I said, “you don't know of anyone else who could have got hold of one of those?”

“I was thinking about that, but probably not,” he replied. “Besides, even if they had, they could only have opened the door with it. They couldn't have rebolted it from the other side. That would need your electromagnet-and-Jäger trick.”

“Except that the murderer couldn't have had an electromagnet and a Jäger,” I said. “The more I think about this case, the more certain I am that we are missing something glaringly obvious. And, also, the less certain I am that it's political. Anyone capable of killing Dangerfield the way they did could have done exactly the same to one of the Russian royals, but didn't.”

“Unless they mistook the cabin?” Hoffmann suggested.

“I doubt it. These cabins aren't staterooms, luxurious though they are. It doesn't seem likely that such a clever murderer would have made such a basic mistake.”

The body had by now been removed and put into cold storage, to the relief of both of us. Hoffmann took out Dangerfield's communicator from a pocket and inserted it into a slot in the device. “Now,” he said. “The way it works is this. My machine will read the information stored in the communicator. We'll then re-run the time from about 11.05 to 11.30 last night, and you'll walk round with the communicator. I've set it so that there'll be a strong trace when you're retracing Dangerfield's steps.”

“That sounds a trifle clumsy,” I said, “but, if it works, I'm not going to knock it.”

He pulled a long face. “I know, but it was the best I could manage. And I'm going to have to take it apart when we've finished, too, before Colette notices that most of the mechanism of her alarm clock is missing.”

It took quite a lot longer than half an hour, because Hoffmann had to keep pausing the timer in order to work out where the strongest trace came from; but, in the end, we had a reconstruction of the murder victim's last steps that looked sensible. He had gone into his cabin and pottered around a little, as one often does before going to bed. Then he had gone to the door at about ten past eleven and, presumably, opened it. After that, he had stood in the middle of the cabin for about five minutes before suddenly falling to the floor, where he remained for no more than a few seconds before he was lifted up smoothly into the air.

“Well, this is some help, at least,” I said. “It seems clear from this that he let someone in and stood talking to them for five minutes before they killed him. They came in through the door, however they eventually left.”

“And they didn't seem to have had the slightest difficulty lifting him,” Hoffmann added, with a frown. “You know what I think? I think they must have had a portable Yang-Chandramurthy field generator.”

“Is there such a thing?” I asked. “Anti-gravity is a very new and unreliable technology. I know about Yang-Chandramurthy fields because Gil uses them in some of his devices, but they're very small ones. Essentially, he uses them when he wants to build in three dimensions in very confined spaces without having to take up any of that space with physical supports. But a field strong enough to lift a man Dangerfield's size off the ground... well, put it this way; if it exists, Gil will be very interested.”

“What about Tarvek and Dmitri? Aren't they interested in that sort of thing?”

I shrugged. “Possibly; but you'd better be the one to talk to them. Tarvek will never tell me anything he doesn't want to get back to Gil.”

“I'll catch them after dinner,” Hoffmann promised. “See what they know.”

“Good man,” I said. “As for me, I'm afraid I'm going to have another early night tonight. Last night's disturbance wrecked me a little.”

Hoffmann grinned. “Sleep is so last year, Ardsley.”

I laughed. “It's all very well for you sparks. My totally non-sparky body needs its rest.”

* * * * *

I was not, however, to get my early night, despite my intentions. As I was leaving the main lounge that evening, the Princess followed me discreetly, caught up with me, and beckoned me aside into one of the smaller lounges.

“Can I be of any assistance, Your Highness?” I asked politely.

“I would just like to know if the possibility of blackmail has occurred to you,” she said.

I blinked. “Well, that is certainly coming straight to the point. Do you mean you think someone was blackmailing poor Dangerfield and killed him because they thought he was going to give the game away, or that Dangerfield was blackmailing someone else and they killed him to be free?”

“I have very good reason to think the latter may be true, my lord,” she replied. “I understand that young Leonid Nevsky told you he had not been previously acquainted with the victim.”

“Ah... and you know something different?” I asked.

“Certainly; and the Tsarina will confirm it if necessary, though I don't think it would be wise to mention the idea of blackmail to her. I have a very good idea of what Dangerfield might have been blackmailing Nevsky about, and it would not be a good thing to mention to Her Imperial Majesty. I think we understand each other.”

“You're as sharp as ever,” I said, admiringly. “Indeed, we understand each other very well. So, how did Nevsky know Dangerfield?”

“He is Russian. He worked for the Tsarina for a little while, until he moved to Sturmhalten.”

“Doing what?” I asked. “Spying?”

“Oh, no. He isn't clever enough to do that sort of thing,” she replied, rather dismissively. “I have no idea what Dmitri sees in him; but that, of course, is none of my business. He is, after all, quite pretty, in his way.”

There was something a little surreal about an old lady who dressed like a dapper gentleman describing a nervous young man as “pretty”; but I let that pass. “So what was Nevsky doing?” I asked.

“He was a secretary. But he always wanted to travel, so he applied for various embassy jobs, and eventually got one in Sturmhalten. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“H'mm,” I said. “That puts quite a different complexion on matters, although I shall tell you quite frankly I can't see how Nevsky could have done it, if he is the murderer. He hasn't the strength.”

“Oh, no. He would have had to involve the Prince,” replied Princess Orlov, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

“But surely the Prince would have been able to think of a better way to get him to leave Nevsky alone than murder?” I said. “I'm glad you told me what you did, Your Highness, but I'm afraid things still aren't adding up. I'll talk to Nevsky again tomorrow, though.”

She stood up, and bowed as was her custom; she never curtseyed. It would, in any case, have looked wrong on her. “I hope I have at least been some help,” she said.

I stood up and returned the bow. “I think you probably have. Thank you.”

As I walked back to my cabin, I mentally re-ran everything I could recall about Nevsky in my head. He had been ill at ease at first with everyone outside his own contingent, and apparently scared to death of me. I had put that down to my rank, but a man who has worked for a Tsarina and then a Storm King surely should not be intimidated by a mere earl. So, what else might he know about me?

Well, if he had been a secretary, he might well have had to translate correspondence, given the fact that languages were not the Tsarina's strongest point. I knew that she and Gil exchanged letters from time to time, because he had mentioned it occasionally when there was any news from Russia that might interest me. He would certainly have told her about the Grauburg case, and it was not too much of a stretch of the imagination to think that Nevsky might have translated that letter for her.

H'mm, I thought. So he thinks I really am Lord Detective Heversham, perhaps.

With this new information rolling around in my head, it took me quite a while to get to sleep that night, and when I went through to breakfast Tarvek took one look at me and said, “Ardsley! Come over here. I have a pot of very strong tea sitting here, and I am never going to drink it all. You look as though you need at least two cups before you even attempt to speak.”

I smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Tarvek. I do need a cup of tea. Where's the rest of your group?”

“Oh, well, as I think you know, Tatiana is guarding the Russian royals,” he said, waving me into the nearest chair. “I believe Dmitri and Leonid are in the games room. Dmitri mentioned something about fancying a game of snooker. He's recently taken it up, you know.”

I poured a cup of tea. “Thank you. I may want another quick word with them today, just to clarify something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.” I left it at that, wondering whether Hoffmann had managed to get anything out of him about the anti-gravity fields last night.

Tarvek decided to let the matter drop. Instead, he said, “I proposed to Agatha again last night.”

“Ah,” I said. “And did you get the usual answer?”

“I'm afraid so. I even pointed out that, if she and I were to get married, then Dimo and Tatiana could easily do the same. It didn't cut as much ice as I'd hoped.”

“If Dimo and Tatiana want to get married, they'll find a way to do it, no matter what,” I replied.

He sighed. “True. They are quite a force to be reckoned with. Is the tea helping?”

“Give it time,” I replied, topping up the cup. It was not Earl Grey, but at this moment that hardly mattered.

There was no sign of Hoffmann, nor indeed any of the Parisian group, over breakfast; however, there was a table which had clearly been recently occupied, so it was likely that they had been up for a while and already eaten. Still, I didn't need Hoffmann to go and talk to Nevsky. I found him, as Tarvek had said, in the games room, helping the Prince to reset the snooker table.

“Ah, Herr Nevsky,” I said. “Might I possibly have a little word in your ear?”

“Don't keep him too long, my lord, if you wouldn't mind,” said Prince Dmitri. “We'd like another game before our usual coffee time.”

“I may have to speak to you as well, Your Highness,” I replied.

“ _Bozhe moy_. This isn't about the case, is it?”

I nodded. “Some more information has come to light. I just need a little clarification from one or both of you. With your permission, Herr Nevsky...?”

Nevsky followed me, with evident reluctance, into the downstairs bar area. It was nowhere near as large as the main bar, and it was closed for most of the day.

“How can I help you, my lord?” he asked.

“Well, you might perhaps start by considering whether you'd like to change your answer to a question I asked you yesterday,” I suggested, mildly. “The one about whether or not you knew Mr Dangerfield before you boarded this airship.”

Nevsky went white, but said nothing.

“Listen,” I said, “you may as well tell me. Whatever else you may be hiding is your own business except insofar as it may be relevant to this case; and I'm not going to pursue it outside that context. I am after the murderer, and the murderer only; and I have other reasons to believe that you didn't do it.” I paused, for effect. “At least, not on your own.”

“Dmitri didn't do it!” he blurted out, in a panic. “How could you possibly believe that of him?”

“Herr Nevsky, I have to suspect everyone,” I replied. “Now, please, take a few moments to calm down. Can I get you a glass of water?”

He shook his head mutely, staring at me out of fearful grey eyes. He looked like some small animal caught in a trap.

“All right,” I said. “I can wait. In your own time, when you're ready, please answer the question again.” I sat back, and proceeded to wait.

After what seemed like an age, he finally spoke. “You obviously know something. But I don't want to talk about it in here. You never know who might walk in.”

“I doubt anyone will at this time of day,” I replied; “but we can certainly find somewhere more private. Let's go up and find one of the small lounges. I'll tell the Prince where we're going.”

I did so. Dmitri did not look well suited, but there was not a great deal he could do about it without being accused of obstructing the investigation. I then took Nevsky up to the main bar, bought him a drink to help his nerves, and ushered him into the same lounge where the Princess and I had been talking the night before.

“Now, then,” I said. “Have as much of the drink as you need before you start talking.”

He sighed. “Yes, I did know George Dangerfield. No, I didn't kill him, either on my own or with Dmitri. And, no, Dmitri didn't kill him either. The problem is that I can't prove that. We can only vouch for each other.”

I nodded. “We'll cross that particular bridge when we come to it. Would you like to tell me how you knew him?”

Nevsky swallowed. “I used to work for the Tsarina. I was a secretary in the Palace. It was interesting work, but I knew I had to get out of Russia. There's... a lot of prejudice... you know?”

“Oh, I do know,” I replied. “I had a very good friend who was in precisely your situation.”

“Really?”

“Yes, he was the Russian Ambassador to Gil's empire. Poor man.”

“What happened to him?” asked Nevsky, wide-eyed.

“He couldn't tell anyone about his boyfriend, and he ended up drinking himself to death. You won't do that, now, will you?”

“No... the Storm King is fine with us,” Nevsky replied. “If anyone gave me any hassle and he heard about it, he'd deal with them.”

“Good for Tarvek,” I said warmly. “So, you worked for the Tsarina, and that was how you knew Dangerfield. Were you ever in contact with him after you went to work at Sturmhalten?”

Nevsky looked away. “No.”

“You're absolutely sure about that?” I asked. “Very well. Did he try to make any contact with you, then?”

There was a pause. Then: “Yes,” said Nevsky, in a very small voice.

“I see. How many times, roughly?”

“I don't know. A lot. Ten, twenty? I... I've no idea.”

“And you never replied to any of his letters?” I asked.

“No!”

“Would that have been, by any chance, because he was blackmailing you?” I enquired.

Nevsky stared at me. “Blackmailing me?”

“Yes. About your relationship with the Prince.”

“But he had no idea about my relationship with Dmitri, my lord!” Nevsky protested. “How would he have known? I didn't tell him, and Dmitri certainly didn't.”

“So you're saying he wasn't blackmailing you?” I persisted.

“Of course he wasn't,” said Nevsky. “He was trying to get me back. We used to be lovers.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Well,” I said, slowly. “That does rather put a different complexion on things. May I ask if Prince Dmitri knows?”

“Oh, yes, my lord,” said Nevsky at once. “We have no secrets.”

“Good. If he hadn't known, it would have made things rather awkward, though I dare say I would have thought of a way round eventually. Did Dangerfield approach you at any time on this ship?”

Nevsky shook his head. “No. I was terrified that he would, though. That was why I was looking so uncomfortable when I sat next to you at dinner. I'm sorry I wasn't very talkative.”

“Ah!” I said. “I thought it was me you were scared of.”

Nevsky half smiled. “Well, I do know something about you, my lord, since you're a friend of a few people I know; I know you have a way of finding things out, and that didn't exactly help. But it was George I was really worried about. As it turned out, he had clearly given up on me, because he completely ignored me. That, or he didn't want to risk any questions from the Tsarina.”

I nodded. “I see. So, when was the last time he wrote to you?”

“Oh... it would be a while ago now. Three, four months, maybe? I'm not sure.”

“Then he probably had indeed given up. Nonetheless, it must have been quite uncomfortable for both of you. He wasn't showing it, though.”

“He could have got someone else by now,” Nevsky suggested.

“He could,” I agreed. “I did enquire about his romantic situation, and nobody knew of anyone; but, in the circumstances, that does make perfect sense.”

“Oh, yes, he knew how to keep quiet; but, of course, he had to,” Nevsky replied. “Poor George. I wouldn't have split with him, except for the fact that I didn't think I could do a long-distance relationship. I've never wished him any ill, I swear.”

“And then you met the Prince,” I said.

Nevsky nodded. “Yes. And I must admit that if I had been trying to keep up a long-distance relationship with George, it wouldn't have survived that. Dmitri is a wonderful person.”

“I see. Did you by any chance happen to keep any of Dangerfield's letters?”

Nevsky winced. “No. After the first two or three, I didn't even open them. They were painful. I burned them. But Dmitri knows all about them. He saw me burn some of them.”

“And you originally lied to me because...?” I prompted.

“I was terrified,” he admitted, shamefacedly.

“I thought so. Word to the wise, Herr Nevsky; if you ever have the misfortune to be involved in a murder investigation again – which I very much hope you do not – try to conquer your fear and tell the truth from the start. It tends to help.” I gave him an encouraging smile. “Now, I had better go and speak to the Prince; but I think it will be not much more than a formality.”

I went to find Dmitri, who confirmed in some detail what Nevsky had told me. “I'm sorry about all that,” he said. “There seemed no need to mention it. After all, it couldn't possibly have been relevant to the murder, and Leonid was in enough of a state to begin with about Dangerfield being on the ship. He is a kind, generous, sensitive soul, but he is of a rather nervous disposition.”

That, I felt, was an understatement, but I did not say so. Instead, I replied, “It could have been relevant to the murder if one or both of you had been guilty; but you had nothing to gain from killing him.”

“Indeed not. In fact, Leonid had something to lose, since he didn't want his past relationship with Dangerfield to be generally known.” He paused. “I'm not at all sure what they saw in each other, to be honest; I wouldn't have expected someone like Dangerfield to appreciate Leonid's artistic nature. But that's all water under the bridge now.”

“Dangerfield was a well-educated man,” I pointed out. “I was at school with him.”

“The devil you were!” exclaimed the Prince, in surprise. “So you've been friends for a long time, then. And you didn't know he was gay?”

“Oh, no. Not friends,” I replied. “He was the school bully. Not at all a pleasant character in his youth. We were not on friendly terms until he made significant changes to his behaviour. So, no, I had no idea about his romantic inclinations.”

“Ah,” said the Prince darkly. “Thank you for that. It explains one or two things that had been puzzling me. Nothing to do with the case, you understand.”

I took that as a strong hint not to enquire. I suspected it was none of my business, after all. I thanked him for his time, and then went to look for Hoffmann, whom I found drinking coffee in the main lounge with Colette.

“Oh, hi,” he said brightly. “Did you sleep in?”

“Unfortunately not,” I replied. “I have been busy untangling a couple of threads, as it were. Did you get any joy out of Tarvek last night?”

He sighed. “He says a field that size is currently impossible, though it may happen in the next ten years or so; but, even if someone could build one now, for one thing it would take a fully equipped laboratory, and for another thing it would most likely be very unstable. Poor old Dangerfield would probably have landed with a thump before the murderer could tie him to the light.”

“Coffee, Ardsley?” asked Colette. “We still have half a pot here, and I can easily order another cup.”

“Thank you,” I said, sitting down. “And I owe you an apology, Colette. I meant to ask you about your father, but with things being as they are...”

“Oh, of course,” she said. “No need to apologise. This dreadful business has put us all at sixes and sevens. He's doing very well; you can tell he is, because he complains all the time. He very nearly insisted on travelling until Dr Deladrier put his foot down.” She broke into a sudden grin, which came as welcome relief to her normally serious face. “You haven't met Dr Deladrier, have you? He is a treasure. One of the very few people I know who can manage to put his foot down with any of my family when they need it.”

“A pearl among doctors, indeed,” I agreed. The mental image of anyone successfully putting their foot down with the Master of Paris was a novel, and somewhat enjoyable, one.

Colette beckoned a waiter and ordered a third coffee cup and some more milk. “Untangling threads?” asked Hoffmann.

“Yes; but if you don't mind, I won't go into detail in public.”

“Oh! Understood. But, broadly, are we any closer to finding our murderer?”

“Not really; but I think we've eliminated a couple of potential suspects. Thank you, Colette.”

Over coffee, I said, “Your M Jouvert seems fairly disagreeable with others, not just me. Is he normally like that, or does he simply not like being away from his students?”

Hoffmann laughed. “I should think he's delighted to get away from them,” he replied. “He's not a very sociable person.”

“And the headaches – does he get those a lot? I imagine that if he does, it wouldn't help.”

“I think it's eyestrain,” said Colette. “He has such tiny writing I'm amazed he can read it without a magnifying glass.”

Hoffmann nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. He gets grouchier and more likely to have a headache as the day goes on.”

“So you brought Mlle Rameau to balance him out?” I asked, with a smile.

Hoffmann laughed. “That's about right.”

“I'm afraid they don't get on,” Colette added. “He thinks she's stupid, which is very far from being the case; but once he gets an idea into his head, it's hard to dislodge.”

“Which makes him the stupid one, in some ways,” said Hoffmann. “He's a first-class linguist, but not much good at anything practical, and positively terrible with people.”

“What makes him think she's stupid?” I asked curiously. “She's certainly quiet, but I had her down straight away as pretty sharp.”

“She's a woman,” replied Colette tartly, “and she's quite pretty.”

“Ah,” I said. “I think one could probably say the same about Commander Tatiana. I hope he doesn't suggest to her that she's stupid, or there will be a diplomatic incident.”

“Well, indeed,” said Colette. “And Agatha Heterodyne is still very good-looking, and she's the most talented spark on this ship. But I'm afraid that's Antoine for you. I don't like him much myself, but he was the best Hindustani speaker we could get.”

“Oh dear,” I said sympathetically. “And... actually... how good is his Hindustani?”

“He can read it and translate it easily enough,” replied Colette, “but I don't know how fluently he speaks it. He's not a native speaker, whereas you are, aren't you?”

I nodded. “Indeed. I was brought up speaking English and Hindustani. Growing up bilingual gave me an excellent start with my other languages.”

“And how!” said Hoffmann.

“Anyway,” I said, “thank you for that; now I shall know to be especially diplomatic. If he falters a little, I'll take care not to show him up.”

“Oh, pfft,” said Colette impatiently. “The man's a pompous old fool, Ardsley, and you don't owe him any deference. If he makes a mistake, we want to know. He doesn't consider anyone else's feelings, so why should you be so careful about his?”

“Darling,” said Hoffmann, “it isn't about who Antoine is. It's about who Ardsley is.”

* * * * *

I arranged to meet Hoffmann to discuss the case after lunch. In the meantime, I went to talk to Agatha again, who might have some ideas on the technological side that had escaped Hoffmann.

“Let's look at it theoretically,” I said. “Suppose you had some good reason to hang a heavy object from the ceiling and then bolt the door from the opposite side. How would you do it?”

“That's easy,” said Agatha. “I'd bring one of the Jägers and...”

I held up a hand. “I realise this is difficult, but can we assume you haven't got a Jäger?”

Agatha blinked. “Oh. Well... let's see... I'd build a clank with a winch attachment...”

“You can't build a clank. You have only the resources available to you on this ship.”

“I _can_ build a clank!” Agatha protested. “I'll show you.” Her eyes glinted suddenly. “I'll show them all!”

Normally, Agatha going into spark mode in the middle of being questioned would have been a disaster; but, on this occasion, it was probably the best thing that could have happened. “Very well, Agatha,” I said, with a smile. “Show me. I'm interested.”

She stood up, arms folded, examining me thoughtfully. “I'll need your tie,” she said.

I took it off and handed it over. It was not the first time that I had had to sacrifice small items of my clothing to the cause of science. There had been that memorable Burns Night when she had started sparking during the dinner and made copious notes all over a pair of my best cuffs.

She grinned manically, extracted various tools from her corset (so many of them that I doubted that garment even needed the usual steel boning), and then set about dismantling the clock. No doubt there would be polite complaints, but she could, after all, well afford to replace it. Within a short time she had a small but long-armed clank, with my tie functioning as a drive belt.

“Impressive,” I said. “And how much will it lift?”

“Clank,” Agatha ordered, “lift him!”

It did. It grabbed the back of my collar and hoisted me into the air, where I dangled in a manner hardly befitting a peer of the realm. “Ah,” I said. “Yes. Well, that definitely works.”

“All right, you can put him down now,” said Agatha cheerfully. “See? What did I tell you?”

I straightened my shirt as discreetly as I could. “Indeed. A magnificent demonstration. Now, do you know of anyone else on the ship who could do something like that? I know you can't be the murderer because you weren't there; but someone was.”

Agatha frowned. “Well, maybe Gil or Tarvek. But they weren't there either, and, in any case, the murderer couldn't have used a device like this. They'd have had to demolish something else to build it, and that would be noticed.”

I looked at the mortal remains of the clock. “Could they put it back together again afterwards?” I enquired.

“Oh, yes, but it would take time. And they would have had to be really desperate. Sparks don't like taking their creations apart once they've built them.”

“That's true enough,” I agreed. I recalled the expression on Hoffmann's face when he told me he would have to disassemble his little device. And he hadn't even liked that device very much.

“Was that helpful?” asked Agatha.

“Yes, I think it was,” I assured her. “And now, what are you going to do with that clank?”

Her eyes began to glint again. “I'm sure I could adapt it as an anti-aircraft missile-thrower. You know, just in case we get attacked.”

I made hurried excuses and left her to it. On the way out, I almost collided with the Tsarina.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “I do apologise, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“No need, my lord; I was the one who was walking too fast,” she replied. “Have you seen Princess Orlov? I am a little concerned.”

I stared at her in horror for a moment, but I am not one to panic easily. “Is she not answering her communicator?” I asked, carefully.

“No; and that is most unlike her.”

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. “Our clank is in the main lounge. I'll send it to look for her, if you like.”

“Thank you; that would be kind.”

I bowed, and hastened back to the lounge as fast as I could. Horatio was standing stoically in a corner, playing cat's-cradle, which looked mildly incongruous. “Horatio,” I gasped, “please go and find the Princess Orlov and report back to me as soon as you can.”

“Yes, sir.” The clank walked out through the exit nearest the bar, which seemed odd to me; our cabins were in the opposite direction. Still, it looked so purposeful that I decided not to enquire. I ordered a pot of Earl Grey, then sat down to wait.

I did not have to wait long. No more than ten minutes had passed before the clank returned. “Her Highness is in the bath, sir,” it informed me.

I frowned. “In the bath? In what bath? Our cabins are that way.” I indicated with a gesture.

“Yes, sir. There is something wrong with the plumbing in Her Highness' bathroom, and it is being repaired at the moment. In the meantime, she is taking a bath in the crew area, since there are no bath facilities except the en-suites in the public areas, and she did not like to ask the Tsarina or the Tsarevna if she could borrow one of their bathrooms. She sends her sincere apologies to the Tsarina; with all the disturbance, she forgot to let her know where she was going.”

I exhaled with relief. “Well, that clears that one up. Thank you very much, Horatio; I'll go and tell the Tsarina. One question, though: how did you find the Princess so quickly?”

The clank looked troubled, which was quite an achievement for something with a metal face. “I don't know, sir. I just knew where she was.”

“All right,” I said. “I'll talk to Gil later and see if he can shed any light on that. In the meantime, I must go and find the Tsarina.”

I did, and explained what had happened. “Ah!” said the Tsarina. “I did see a couple of workmen earlier. So they would have been going to repair whatever was wrong in the Princess' bathroom. Really, though, she needn't have worried about asking us; we should have been quite happy to allow her to use ours, in the circumstances.”

“And what about Tatiana?” I asked.

The Tsarina smiled. “I gave her some time off this morning. Consequently, she has Dimo in there. I do not think even I would ask to borrow her bathroom at the moment.”

I coughed. “Ah. Quite so. By the way, Your Imperial Majesty, may I ask if you were previously acquainted with young Leonid Nevsky?”

“That is a rather odd question, my lord; but, yes, I was. He used to work for me for a while. Why do you ask?”

“Simply a little clarification,” I replied smoothly. “And in what capacity did he work?”

“He was a secretary.”

“A good one?”

“Not especially, by my standards; but nor was he a bad one. He was about average, and his knowledge of languages was useful. But he wanted to travel, so he eventually got a job at our embassy in Sturmhalten, and the next thing we knew he was working for the Storm King.” She turned up her elegant nose very slightly. “I really don't know why Tarvek thinks so highly of him, but each to their own.”

“If you will permit me a word of advice, Your Imperial Majesty,” I replied, “it is that you should never, even for a moment, underestimate Tarvek. He is an exceedingly clever man.”

The Tsarina shrugged very slightly. “Then perhaps Sturmhalten agrees with young Nevsky better than Moscow did. Who knows? It is no longer my business, my lord.”

* * * * *

I caught up with Hoffmann again after lunch, as we had arranged, and we compared notes.

“So,” said Hoffmann, “everything's still totally impossible, but we're now pretty well certain Nevsky and the Prince didn't do it?”

“The murder was really the last thing Nevsky needed to happen short of his own murder, I think,” I replied. “And his story checks. I think we can safely assume that Leonid Nevsky is guilty of nothing worse than having chosen the wrong partner back in Russia and then lying because he was frightened. Hardly indictable offences.”

“Wrong partner?” Hoffmann echoed. “He may have been right at the time, though.”

I shook my head. “Read between the lines. He kept writing to Nevsky to try to get him back, even though Nevsky had told him quite clearly that the relationship was at an end. Once or twice I can understand; people do lose their heads sometimes when they're upset. But this was between ten and twenty times, over a period of some months, and when he finally does see him again he doesn't even say hallo. And then there was that mysterious remark the Prince made. I think Dangerfield was, at the very least, over-possessive.”

“H'mm,” said Hoffmann. “You have a point. But that doesn't really give us any clues about why he was killed.”

“It might if there are any more ex-boyfriends around whom he's treated badly,” I said.

“Not on this ship, though,” replied Hoffmann. “As far as we know, he's never been to Paris, Sturmhalten or Mechanicsburg, or at any rate not for long enough to form a relationship with anyone. Might have been around for the odd day or two for an official visit, maybe.”

“He was on Castle Wulfenbach for quite a while,” I said. “That was where I trained him. I was helping Gil build the Tsarina's mechanical translator at the time, and when I wasn't helping Gil I was generally putting Dangerfield through his paces. But I very much doubt that helps us. Gil doesn't go for men, and neither do I, of course.”

“Did he have any particular friends while he was there?” asked Hoffmann.

“Just me, I think, which doesn't help,” I replied. “I think we can probably eliminate that as a line of enquiry. A pity. I'm really racking my brains for the motive.”

Hoffmann shrugged. “Not to mention the method.”

“Well, yes,” I said heavily. “All the same, someone killed him, so both the method and the motive exist. We just have to find them.”

“Just,” said Hoffmann. “No, I shouldn't be like that – we're two clever people. We can do it!”

“Attaboy!” I said. “So, let's see exactly what possibilities we have left.”

* * * * *

We broke off for a cup of tea again a little after four, and Hoffmann said he was going to try an experiment. He did not want to tell me what it was, in case it failed to work. I wondered exactly how many timepieces were going to be taken apart on this ship before the case was solved.

The Princess was in the main lounge when I arrived. “Oh, my lord,” she said. “What was it you needed me for this morning? I do apologise for not going to look for you earlier, but the Tsarina had some things for me to do. She accepted my apology very graciously; she said anyone could forget, in the circumstances, and if my bathroom was not repaired I could use hers.”

“I didn't need you, as such; I was simply checking on the Tsarina's behalf,” I replied. “And that was kind of her, as it will be much less far for you to have to go when you want a bath.”

“Kind, but not necessary; they have repaired the fault now,” said Princess Orlov, with a smile. “The staff are most efficient here. I had no hot water, you see. There was a blockage in the pipe.”

“Limescale?” I asked.

“No; some object, I think. I don't know what it was. I wasn't there when the repair was done.”

I frowned. “How does an extraneous object get into a hot water pipe?”

“That is a very good question, my lord,” said the Princess slowly. “I had not thought about that; but then, of course, I was right in the middle of the situation and therefore a little flustered.”

I leaned forward slightly. “I suppose you couldn't find out for me, could you? The murder weapon is nowhere to be found, and it's just remotely possible it could be the strange object in the plumbing.”

“Of course. I shall send for the engineer again and ask.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” I said.

“My pleasure. I am happy to do whatever I can to help.” She paused. “By the way, did you investigate my suggestion of last night?”

“I did indeed,” I replied. “It was not what you thought it might be, but I did learn enough to eliminate two of my suspects.”

“Well, that is something,” she said. “The more people you can eliminate, the easier it becomes.”

“Perhaps one should say less difficult, rather than easier,” I replied. “There are still too many things about this case that make no sense at all.”

“It is very strange,” she agreed, “but clearly there must be a solution, unless we are to admit of the existence of evil spirits.”

“I believe that evil spirits do exist, Your Highness,” I replied, “but I don't believe that they work in such a direct fashion. They would still have to work through human beings.”

“And what do you think of this table-turning that is all the rage at the moment?” she asked.

“Gammon and spinach,” I replied. “Absolute rot. If spirits could move tables, they could also make themselves either useful or a nuisance, depending on their nature, in other direct ways. I suspect that about half the time it is plain fraud, and the other half of the time it is a combination of wishful thinking and the subconscious mind. I have seen one of those tables. It would not take a great deal to move it without realising that one was doing so.”

She smiled. “I agree with you entirely, but I can't help thinking that it is rather a pity it isn't real. If it were, we could ask the spirits to reveal the name of the murderer. That would make things so very much easier. If this were one of those popular modern detective stories, Dangerfield's ghost would be hanging around on board, just waiting for the chance to tell us.”

I returned the smile. “And if they did,” I said, “I should still have to test it. If spirits did speak to us in such a crude fashion, there would still be no guarantee that they would tell us the truth.”

“A fair point, my lord. Ah, well. We can but imagine.”

It was at this point that Oggie wandered up to us. “Hey, Mister Vooster,” he said. “Hi dere, Princess. Hyu vorked out who ve gots to tump yet?”

“I'm afraid not, Oggie,” I replied, “but I'm working on it, along with Professor Hoffmann.”

Oggie gaped at the Princess. “Hyu dun look at all like der Professor,” he said. “Dot iz a really goot disguise.”

The Princess laughed. “I don't think you quite followed what his lordship said, Oggie. I am not, in fact, Professor Hoffmann. And I must confess that, if you're looking for someone to thump, I am highly tempted to recommend M Jouvert. He was most rude over lunch.”

“Hokay,” said Oggie happily. “Hy go und...”

“No!” I called. “The Princess was merely expressing a theoretical wish. She does not actually want you to go and thump M Jouvert.”

“Ho. Vell, vy hyu say hyu did, den?”

“It's what's called a counterfactual,” I began, and then realised that it was useless to use semi-obscure words with Oggie, no matter how accurately they summed matters up. “What I mean to say is, she was talking about something that can't happen but she half wishes it could.”

“Ken zo heppen,” Oggie protested. “Iz notting schtoppink me from goink und tumpink dot eediot. Vould be a goot idea.”

“I'm stopping you,” I replied firmly. “Don't even think about it.”

“But de Princess said...”

“No, Oggie. Ask Agatha if you're in the slightest doubt.”

“Hy dun suppose de Mistress vould mind if hy tumped him,” said Oggie, with a grin. “Dey dun get on. But den, he dun get on vit anyvun. Even de Colette dun like heem.”

“Ognian,” I said patiently, “this is a diplomatic mission, and thumping one of the Parisian contingent would be undiplomatic.”

“Hy not here to do diplomacy, Mister Vooster,” Oggie pointed out.

“For which the Lord make us truly thankful,” I murmured. “Even so. Please do not thump M Jouvert. I should be most unhappy if you did.”

“Ho, all right,” said Oggie philosophically. “Dun vant to upset hyu. But hyu do know he dun like hyu either? Says hyu iz stuck up. Shows vot he knows.”

“He's welcome to think that if he likes,” I replied. “I think he's a dreadful old grouch.”

“Vell, he iz,” said Oggie. “But hyu iz not stuck up. Not at all.”

“Jealous little desiccated prune,” said the Princess. “I'll give him stuck up. It's nothing more nor less than the fact that Lord Heversham knows more languages than he does.”

“Hey,” said Oggie. “Hyu got a vay vit vords. Dissertated prune? Hy like dot.”

“Desiccated,” I said.

“Dot as vell,” replied Oggie. “Anyvay, hy iz lookink for Miz Rameau. Haff hyu seen her?”

“Not lately,” I replied. “You, Your Highness?”

“I believe she's in that little lounge at the end of the corridor,” said the Princess. “I saw her go in there with some knitting. The light is good from that side at the moment.”

“Tenk hyu, Princess,” said Oggie, and departed.

There was a pause, and then the Princess looked at me. “Is he really that stupid?” she asked.

“I'm afraid our Ognian is not the sharpest pencil in the box,” I replied, “but he does have a habit of occasionally hitting the nail squarely on the head.”

“Apparently that's not the only thing he hits.”

“No, indeed. But you should certainly see him fight with that halberd of his. Whatever he is like in other respects, he is stunningly accurate with it.”

She smiled. “That does not surprise me. Lady Heterodyne is a sensible woman, and if she brings him with her, she does it for a reason. Still, he is very unlike Dimo.”

“And Maxim,” I added, “but the three of them complement one another very well. They are an excellent team.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” replied the Princess. “Speaking of Lady Heterodyne, incidentally...”

“Look out!” I shouted.

I was too late. The crack which had just appeared in the ceiling above us gave way altogether, leaving the Princess with her hair full of plaster dust and her lap full of Jimenez Hoffmann.

“Oops,” he said. “Terribly sorry, Your Highness.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Isn't this just a little informal?” she enquired, with a half smile.

“You're not hurt, then, I hope?” he asked anxiously.

“A little bruised. The armchair took most of the impact,” she replied.

I was conscientiously trying to avoid looking constipated. “Would this by any chance have anything to do with the experiment you mentioned earlier?” I asked. “I thought you were going to build another device of some kind.”

“Oh no, this was the experiment,” he said. “I thought I'd see if I could find another way out of Dangerfield's cabin via the ventilation system. But it, er, didn't exactly work.”

I rolled my eyes. “Now I see why you didn't want an old chap with a bad back involved.”

“Well... it wouldn't have been very tactful...” he began.

“Look, I'm not in the best of health, and that is just how it is,” I said. “I do what I can, and I don't do what I can't. The same goes for any of us; it's just that the boundaries are a little different. It's not an embarrassment, just an occasional beastly nuisance.”

“Perhaps you would be so kind as to extract yourself from my lap before you make your wife jealous, Professor Hoffmann?” said the Princess sweetly.

“Oh. Er. Yes, of course.” He scrambled inelegantly out of the armchair. “Look, I'm so sorry... and now you're going to have to wash your hair again...”

“It'll comb out,” she replied serenely. “Think nothing of it. Now, if you gentlemen will kindly excuse me, I believe the Tsarevna requires my presence.”

Hoffmann and I exchanged glances as she left.

“It's all right, Ardsley,” he said. “You're allowed to call me an idiot. I know you're thinking it.”

“Very well,” I replied. “Jiminez, you're an idiot. But, thankfully, not very often.”


	5. Chapter 5

I gave Hoffmann a chance to get cleaned up, then went to meet him as we had arranged. While he was doing that, I was not idle. I went and found the first mate and had quite a productive little conversation with her. When I rejoined Hoffmann, I had a folded piece of paper in my hand, which I spread out over his writing-desk.

“Here we are,” I said. “It's a plumbing diagram of the airship.”

He gave me an odd look. “You didn't get hit on the head by a bit of ceiling, did you?”

“Absolutely not; but, now I think of it, I'm not sure I had the chance to explain my reasoning earlier. The hot water pipe leading to the Princess' cabin was blocked, and the engineer removed some object from it this morning. The Princess has agreed to speak to the engineer and see if she can find out what it was. I, meanwhile, spoke to the first mate and got this out of her. You see, I want to know if it would be feasible for an item dropped into the plumbing system from Dangerfield's cabin to end up blocking a pipe a little further along the corridor.”

“Oooh! You mean the murder weapon?” he asked, immediately all bounce.

“Indeed. Some of those pipes have quite a large bore. It's certainly not beyond belief that something like a cosh could have been hidden inside them.”

“H'mm. Let's see, then.” We examined the diagram together for a few minutes, then he said, “It's no good, Ardsley. The diagram doesn't tell us which way the water goes round the system. If it goes this way, then it would be a likely theory, but if it goes that way...”

“It goes this way,” I said. “Think about where the boiler is. Jimenez, I really think we may be on to something at last.”

“This is wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Have you got anything significant out of your clank yet?”

“Not a lot. It just stands there playing cat's-cradle, and when I ask it to report, it tells me a lot of trivia. It ought to be intelligent enough to know what's obviously irrelevant. I mean, it is one of Gil's, after all.”

“Why does it play cat's-cradle?” he asked.

“I have no idea, but it makes some fascinatingly complex designs,” I replied. “Astonishing what can be done with a simple loop of twine.”

There was a tap on the door. Hoffmann went to open it.

“Ah, there you are,” said the Princess. “Since you weren't in Lord Heversham's cabin, it was likely that you would be in this one. I'm afraid I have some bad news for you gentlemen.”

“Oh,” said Hoffmann. “I hope the Tsarina isn't upset with me for falling through the ceiling on you, Your Highness.”

“Nothing like that,” she replied, a little impatiently. “Aren't you going to let me in?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Hoffmann waved her inside and closed the door.

“No more murders, I hope?” I said.

“Not exactly. But I'm afraid your clank has been sabotaged.”

“How badly?” I asked.

“Terminally. Colette found what was left of it in the lavatories. She sent Mlle Rameau to tell the Baron, but I thought you would also want to know.”

“Indeed,” I said. “Thank you, Your Highness. I'll go and talk to Gil later. Have you had a chance to speak to the engineer yet?”

“I have; but I'm afraid what he found can't possibly be the murder weapon. It was a large piece of cloth. I have it drying in my bathroom at the moment, and I shall show it to you when it is in a respectable state and will not drip all over your clothes.”

“Any bloodstains on it?” I asked.

“Impossible to tell,” she replied. “It's heavily patterned, and it's been in a water pipe. I did check, believe me.”

“I'm quite sure you did, Your Highness,” I said. “Bad news notwithstanding, I'm very grateful for your help.”

When she had gone, Hoffmann said, “So it looks very much as though someone realised they'd said something incriminating in front of the clank.”

“It does, rather; and now we shall never find out what it was,” I agreed. “But I'm hoping that this mysterious piece of cloth will tell us something. I'm quite sure it must be relevant to the case. People don't just arbitrarily stuff pieces of cloth into the plumbing system; someone was trying to hide it, and hide it well.”

“It still might have nothing to do with the case, though,” said Hoffmann. “I mean, it might be like that idea the Princess had about blackmail that sent us barking up the wrong tree after a red herring.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You still mix metaphors as well as ever, I see. Still, there are far too many secrets aboard this ship. Official ones can't be helped; but I suspect some of the unofficial ones may not be entirely savoury. I want to get to the bottom of the mystery of the cloth in the pipe, even if it turns out to have nothing to do with our murder.”

“And what are we doing in the meantime?” asked Hoffmann. “I did take photographs of everything, so maybe we could look at the pipes again and see if there's any obvious sign of tampering.”

“Yes, that's what I was going to suggest,” I replied. “It'll be a good start.”

* * * * *

I went and found Gil a little later. As I expected, he was fuming.

“It's practically another murder,” he said. “The clank was conscious, intelligent, able to think for itself... I mean, I could rebuild it, but it would have lost all its original memories and personality. It would be a different clank.”

“I know,” I said. “I'm so sorry, Gil. I really didn't imagine anyone would have the sheer brass to sabotage it in broad daylight.”

He sighed. “No, and neither did I. Someone's desperate. You'd better watch your own back, Ardsley.”

“I already do,” I assured him. “It's the habit of a lifetime.”

“Well, do more of it. I don't want to lose you, and I would even less relish the idea of having to explain your death to Lucilla. Damn! If we were on Castle Wulfenbach right now I'd make sure you were guarded to the nines, but since we're not...”

“I'm an ex-spy, as you well know, Gil. Don't worry about me. I'd be more worried about Hoffmann, if it weren't for the fact that I'm pretty sure he's half cat. He always seems to land on his feet.”

“Or someone else's,” Gil observed. “I heard about him falling through the ceiling on the Princess. She took it quite calmly, I understand.”

“She's not easy to ruffle,” I replied. “She's extremely tough, in her own way. But then, she's had to be. She hasn't had an easy life.”

“And are you anywhere nearer to finding the murderer yet?” Gil asked. “Because we're not so far from India now, and the situation is getting... twitchy.”

“Yes; I think we may have a strong clue at last,” I replied. I explained about the piece of cloth in the pipes.

“Why a piece of cloth?” asked Gil, frowning.

“Because there are any number of small to medium sized heavy objects on board this airship, any one of which could have been used as the murder weapon,” I said. “If the murderer had wrapped one of them in a large cloth before using it, that would do two things. First, it would help to keep any traces of blood or hair off the weapon itself, making it harder to identify; and, secondly, it would make the weapon more effective, because it would be easier for the murderer to swing it. You remember how Miss Kaur wrapped that bronze statuette in her dupatta when we were trying to get her _kirpan_ back from the people who had kidnapped her? Like that.”

“Oh, of course – and then they'd have to hide the cloth,” said Gil. “Which would no doubt be an easier job than hiding the weapon itself.”

“Precisely. I haven't seen it yet, but the Princess has promised to show me once it's dry. She's been very helpful; but then, she would, I suppose. We still can't totally rule out a political motive, though I do think it's unlikely, and anyone killing Dangerfield for political reasons might well also want to take a pop at the Princess.”

“Why do you think it's so unlikely?” asked Gil.

“They didn't go for the Tsarina or the Tsarevna,” I replied, simply. “I'm increasingly sure that the motive is tied up somehow with Dangerfield's past; and not even necessarily his distant past. It seems there were some bad habits in certain areas of his life that he never entirely shook off.”

“H'mm. Well, people may have disliked him, but that wouldn't make them kill him. If people killed just because they disliked someone, Jouvert wouldn't have lasted five minutes.”

“I can't go into too much detail,” I replied, “but I think we may be talking about something rather stronger than mere dislike. By the way, Gil, what are we doing about a replacement for the late lamented Horatio?”

“I'm going to go and have a word with Agatha,” said Gil. “See if she can lend us Maxim until such time as I can build a new clank. Don't want you struggling with your shoelaces.”

“Oh, I assure you, I wouldn't struggle. I know very well I can't bend far enough to tie them. If absolutely necessary, I should have to walk round in my carpet slippers; but that would be a little undignified.”

Gil grinned. “We can't have that.”

“Well, no,” I agreed. “I told you my dressing gown was in a bit of a state. My slippers are worse. There's a hole appearing in the toe of the left one.”

“You are the British Ambassador to my Empire,” said Gil. “You're rolling in money. Ever thought of just treating yourself to a new pair of carpet slippers?”

I shrugged. “Well, I'll have to eventually, I suppose, but I'm rather fond of them. You see, they were a Christmas present from Lucilla. She has a wonderful gift for knowing exactly what people will like.”

“Heh,” said Gil. “You soppy old romantic. Mind you, I'm a fine one to talk. I've still got a little dingbot Agatha gave me years ago. It doesn't work these days, but I can't bring myself to dismantle it for the components.”

“I've never seen that in your laboratory,” I said. “Where do you keep it?”

Gil actually blushed. “It, er, sits on the end of my bed with the pyjama case and the cuddly mimmoth,” he said. “And if you dare ever mention that...”

“Cuddly mimmoth?”

“Say anything and I'll...”

“What do you call yours?” I asked. “I've got a cuddly mimmoth too. One of my daughters gave it to me for my birthday.”

Gil gave in. “Xerxes. It was a present from Seffie, you see, and I couldn't really refuse. Besides...” he coughed. “It is kind of... cute.”

“Mine is called Plato. We should introduce them some time.”

“Ardsley,” said Gil, “I cannot believe this is happening. Two grown men, movers and shakers at that, having a conversation about cuddly mimmoths.”

I smiled. “Well,” I said, “it makes a very pleasant change from murder.”

* * * * *

I had planned to go to bed soon after dinner, but an idea had occurred to me over the main course. As we left the table, I caught up with Prince Dmitri.

“Would you and Herr Nevsky care to join me for a drink in one of the small lounges?” I asked.

He flicked an eyebrow. “Is that an official instruction?”

“No; but you're both in the clear, and I want to ask you a few more questions that may help us find the real murderer,” I replied. “And, besides, don't you want to have a drink or two with your old emergency charioteer?”

He grinned. “Well, if you put it like that... you did do a hell of a fine job there.” He lowered his voice. “But I'm not going to be the one to ask Leonid. You'll have to do that.”

“Understood,” I replied.

I did, and ten minutes or so later we were all comfortably ensconced with drinks. “Well, now,” I said. “What I'd like to do here is to find out everything you can tell me about George Dangerfield's past. I'm quite sure the key to his murder is to be found there.”

“I'll help as much as I can,” said Nevsky, “but I don't know a lot. He wasn't really one to talk about it.”

“But you did tell me about someone in England,” the Prince reminded him.

“Yes, he was involved with someone for quite a long time while he was in England. An Italian. I don't remember his name, though. Cesare something. That's all I can recall.”

“Before or after he started working for the Tsarina?” I asked.

“I'm not sure,” replied Nevsky. “I'm sorry, my lord. This really isn't very helpful.”

“Very well, we'll leave that one,” I said. “Do you know of anyone more recent? On Castle Wulfenbach, perhaps?”

“Yes, I think he did have a fling with someone there, but it was nothing very important. After all, he wasn't there for very long.”

“The other fellow may have thought it was important,” I said. “You have absolutely no idea who he was?”

“I don't know,” said the Prince thoughtfully, “but I could make a good guess if you liked. The Baron has a security officer who made eyes at me all the time I was last there. Kaufmann, I think his name was.”

“Kaufmann no longer works for Gil,” I said. “He... went to Paris.”

“You have a good memory, my lord,” Nevsky observed.

“Not really. I knew Kaufmann; he was an ambitious man, and he was always going to grab the first chance he got at a better job. Not that Gil paid him badly – he looks after his staff – but, let's face it, security is hardly a career to stretch the intellect. He joined the gendarmerie. I dare say he's a good policeman; he was an excellent security officer.”

We chatted a little longer, but I got nothing else of any great importance out of them; just before I went to bed, I found Hoffmann and filled him in.

“Paris?” he said. “I'm pretty sure Antoine isn't gay.”

“Jimenez, we're not necessarily looking for a gay man,” I pointed out. “In fact, I rather doubt we are. If Dangerfield had seriously harmed one of his boyfriends, it would be more likely to be a friend or relative who would feel inclined to take revenge.”

Hoffmann sighed. “That could be anyone, then. Except for the locked room, the physical strength, and the ability to open up a hot water pipe without spraying water everywhere, shove a cloth in it, and put it back together again.”

“Yes, indeed,” I said. “The business with the hot water pipe definitely had to involve some kind of spark technology; but we knew we were dealing with that already.”

“Oh – when you saw Gil, did you remember to ask him about the clank finding the Princess straight away? I don't suppose it has any bearing on the case, but it's still odd.”

“No,” I admitted. “With the clank being destroyed, it slipped my mind. I'll catch him in the morning; I'm off to bed now.”

“Sleep well!” said Hoffmann. “I'll probably see you over breakfast.”

“You too,” I replied.

I returned to my cabin, where I slept the sleep of the only just.

* * * * *

Maxim came and knocked on my door the next morning. “Hey, Earl,” he said. “Der Gil vent und borrowed me, zo now hy iz hyu valet.”

“Oh – thank you, Maxim,” I said. “Would you mind awfully giving me a hand with my shoes, then? I could kick them off last night, but I can't get them on again.”

“Sure. Iz no problem. Hyu yust sit down dere und hy do de honours.”

I did. Maxim expertly untied my shoes – something one might think was quite difficult for him, due to the length of his claws – and then eased them onto my feet and tied them up again neatly.

“Hyu vant me to giff dem a clean vhile hy iz at it?” he asked. “Dey iz schtill lookink a bit dusty from der Professor fallink through der ceilink.”

“Are you sure?” I said. “That would be most kind. I normally do them myself, but I was very tired last night and I just wanted to get straight to bed.”

“Iz no problem. Hy clean dem zo goot, hyu see hyu face in dem.”

I reflected that it would probably not take much effort on his part, given his strength. “Thank you,” I said.

“Hyu velcome.”

He went at my shoes with black boot polish and considerable enthusiasm, and a few minutes later they had a patina worthy of a horse guard's high boots. “Dere,” he said. “Iz goot?”

“It's excellent,” I replied warmly. “And now I'm going to go and get some breakfast.”

I did not see Hoffmann at breakfast, since he had got up early as he usually did; I was starting to think he must run on energy cells. However, just as I was finishing, I saw Tatiana, who came hurrying up to me.

“My lord,” she said, “Princess Orlov is ill and wants to see you.”

“Good heavens,” I said, in alarm. “Certainly. But is the doctor not with her?”

“Oh, yes, the doctor is with her,” Tatiana assured me. “But she wants you as well.”

I put down the remains of my coffee and followed her at as brisk a pace as I could muster. When we reached the Princess' cabin, however, it was quite clear that she was not at death's door. She was sitting up in bed, arguing with Dr Grigorian.

“Oh, there you are, my lord!” she exclaimed. “Thank you for coming to see me. I would like you to explain to this idiot of a doctor why it is likely that I have been poisoned.”

“Your Highness, you are showing all the symptoms of...” the doctor began.

“I don't care what I'm showing all the symptoms of; poisons can mimic anything,” the Princess interrupted. “I want you to do a blood test.”

“Ah,” I said. “Yes, Dr Grigorian; I'm afraid it is quite possible that the Princess may have been poisoned. She has been helping the Professor and myself with our murder enquiry, and she has what may be a crucial piece of evidence in her possession.” I glanced at the Princess. “It is, ah, still there, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes, it's definitely still there. I've just been spending a good deal more time in that bathroom than I would have liked,” she said tartly. “Ugh. And I feel sick again. Excuse me.” She got out of bed with surprising dignity, hurried through to the bathroom, and closed the door behind her.

“Is there any good reason why you should not do as she asks, Doctor?” I enquired mildly.

“Because it's a waste of time, my lord,” replied the doctor. “We are in Indian airspace now. It's quite clear to me that Her Highness has dysentery. I can give her drugs to help.”

“Airspace is not the same thing as ground level,” I said. “I am not a medical man, but I fail to see how one can get dysentery simply by being on an airship above an area where it is rife. I would strongly advise you to perform the blood test before you do anything else.”

“With respect, my lord...”

“Or would you rather I involved the Tsarina?” I asked, mildly.

Dr Grigorian sagged. “Very well. I will perform the blood test, but I want you to be witness to the fact that I think it is ill-advised.”

“I will do that,” I said.

The Princess reappeared, looking ashen but still in full command of herself. “You'll be pleased to know that Exhibit A is very nearly dry, my lord,” she said. “Once I am no longer requiring urgent access, you may go and look at it.”

“His lordship has persuaded me to do the blood test,” said Dr Grigorian, giving me a rather sour look. “If you would like to make yourself comfortable again, Your Highness, we had better get it over with as quickly as possible.”

“I think I am no longer needed here,” I said. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “No doubt I shall see you again today.”

* * * * *

“Poisoned?” said Hoffmann, in alarm.

“Yes, but by no means fatally. She is ill, but not too ill to argue with Dr Grigorian, who thinks she has dysentery. I suppose that's not totally out of the question, depending on whether or not there is any contaminated food aboard; but we've all eaten much the same things.”

“Just because she has that bit of cloth?” asked Hoffmann wonderingly. “Did you get to see it, by the way?”

I shook my head. “Her stomach is upset. And the cloth is drying in her bathroom.”

“Ah... right. Poor lady. Any idea what the poison is?”

“I'm no expert at that,” I replied. “It's a real pity Agatha didn't bring Violetta with her. She would have known at once.”

“Right – so our murderer is a Smoke Knight as well as a spark? That narrows things down to, well, less than zero again.”

“I've never said the murderer had to be a spark,” I reminded him. “Only someone using spark technology. Similarly, they don't have to be a Smoke Knight; they just have to know one good poison. It's entirely possible that they had to make it on board, which explains why it failed to kill the Princess. After all, most people don't walk around carrying bottles of poison with them just in case they might need to murder someone.”

“You did when you were younger, didn't you, though?” he persisted.

“Oh, no. Not me. I carried weapons. I would never use poison. But you're right in one sense; some spies do.”

“It is rather looking like a spy, isn't it?” said Hoffmann thoughtfully. “The technology, and now the poison. And I suppose it would be hard to tell if there were any spies on this ship.”

I know of one, I thought, but said nothing. After all, she would hardly have poisoned herself.

“Did they get into her cabin?” he continued.

“Without knowing what the poison is and how long it took to start working, I can't tell you that; but it would have been easy for anyone to slip something into her drink last night. We were all milling around with drinks at one point.”

“Yes, indeed.” Hoffmann frowned. “I wish I could remember who was talking to the Princess.”

“Probably almost everyone at some point,” I said. “She's quite convivial.”

“Oh, apropos of nothing,” he said suddenly, “how's Gil this morning? I meant to ask you earlier. I know he was quite cut up about that clank yesterday.”

“I haven't seen him,” I replied. “All I know is that he borrowed Maxim temporarily from Agatha. He came in shortly after I got up, helped me on with my shoes, and then gave them the most tremendous clean.” I glanced down. “For a real military polish, you can't do better than an ex-cavalry officer.”

“Ooh,” said Hoffmann. “Can I borrow him next?”

* * * * *

Dr Grigorian came and found me after lunch.

“I owe you an apology, my lord,” she said. “You were quite right. It was poison. I've given Her Highness the antidote, and she's now sleeping. She will feel a lot better when she wakes up.”

“I'm relieved to hear it,” I said. “Do you have any idea when the poison would have been administered?”

“Some time last night,” replied the doctor promptly.

I nodded. “Then it's likely that someone spiked her drink, as I thought. A pity. It could have been anyone. By the way, since you're here, was there any evidence that Dangerfield had been drugged? I'm asking just for completeness, you understand. We now know he was standing up when he was killed.”

“I didn't think to check, but I can certainly do that for you, my lord.”

“Thank you; that would be helpful. And do you have any professional opinion on how the head trauma was inflicted?”

She thought for a moment. “Difficult to say, my lord, other than the obvious; it was a blunt instrument, used with enough force to kill him but not to do any major damage to his skull. It wasn't stove in, or even heavily fractured. There were some light cracks and a bit of dislocation damage, but that was all. There was barely even a wound on the surface.”

I nodded. “No, of course not; skull wounds always bleed like the dickens, and there was no obvious blood when we first found the body. So we're talking about a hefty, but extremely well calculated, amount of force.”

“I would say so, my lord. Someone knew exactly what they were doing.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said. “You've been most helpful.”

There were a number of small luxury shops on board the airship. I went to one of them and bought a box of chocolates, then found Dimo and asked him to convey a message to Tatiana, who was presumably off doing something for her temporary employers. It was not long before Tatiana appeared.

“I got your message, my lord,” she said. “The Princess is awake now.”

“Good,” I said. “Would you mind coming along to act as chaperone? One can't be too careful.”

“She is over seventy,” the were-samoyed pointed out, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

“Yes, and I have a bad back. Even so, Tatiana. There is... history between us.”

We walked down to the Princess' cabin and knocked on the door. “Come in,” she called. “Ah! It's you, my lord. I thought I should be seeing you again quite soon.”

“How are you feeling, Your Highness?” I asked. “I have, ah, brought you these. It is traditional.”

“Thank you. You are very kind. I am still a little weak, but that will soon pass; I think I shall be joining the rest of the party for dinner tonight. I suppose you have not yet managed to identify the culprit?”

“No,” I replied, “but I think I am much closer to it than I was. May I look at your piece of cloth now?”

“Of course,” she said. “It is still hanging up on the rail over the bath.”

I went through into the bathroom; it was chilly in there, since someone had opened the window. The mysterious piece of cloth was a scarf. Moreover, it was one I recognised.

I stood staring at it for some minutes, transfixed, and finally came out of the bathroom carrying it. “The case is solved,” I announced. “I now know who killed George Dangerfield and how they did it.”

“Congratulations, my lord,” said the Princess, smiling. “I knew you would solve it. Do you also know why they did it?”

“No,” I admitted, “but I do have a vague guess. I shall need the murderer to confirm that for me.”

“Anything political?” she asked.

“Not in the least,” I replied.

“And are you going to tell me?” she asked, coaxingly.

“In due time,” I replied. “I'm afraid that even you, Your Highness, will have to wait.”


	6. Chapter 6

There was a general buzz of conversation as the main course was being cleared away. I stood up. “Ahem,” I said. “Your Imperial Majesty, Your Royal Highness, Your Highness, my lords, ladies, gentlemen, and... ah... Jägers. May I have your attention for a few minutes?”

“Ve iz yentlemen too,” said Maxim.

“Hyu iz, maybe,” said Dimo. “Me und Oggie iz as common as muck.”

“Hey!” said Oggie.

“Hyu kent eat prawn cocktail like dot und call hyuself a yentleman,” said Dimo, with a certain remorseless accuracy.

“Ah... yes, would you very much mind sorting that out afterwards among yourselves?” I asked. “What I have to say is quite important.”

Oggie subsided. Fortunately, he was not sitting next to Dimo; he had ended up between Jouvert and Donatella. I waited for the little buzz of excitement to die down, and then began in earnest.

“It was obvious from the beginning,” I said, “that whoever killed George Dangerfield used spark technology to do so. The fact of the locked room, the strength required to hang him from the light fitting, and certain other pieces of information which came out along the way – all that pointed only one way. However, although there are several sparks here among us, there is no suitable laboratory on board, and even Agatha here was unable to build a device without dismantling something else for parts.”

Agatha nodded. “But I did get it launching missiles, Ardsley,” she said, beaming.

“I'm... ah... delighted to hear that,” I replied. “Now, as you're all aware, there was no obvious trace of the murder weapon in Dangerfield's cabin. When an object was found blocking the hot water pipe in Princess Orlov's bathroom, I wondered if that might be the weapon in question. It turned out, in fact, to be a large piece of cloth, which I shall show you all in a little while. It was clear that this had been wrapped round the murder weapon to protect it from picking up any traces of blood or hair, and possibly also to allow the murderer to swing it. Even so, that told me nothing about what the weapon itself actually was... until I saw the piece of cloth.”

“You're a clever man, Ardsley,” said Gil, “but how the hell could a piece of cloth give you any information about what had been wrapped in it?”

“Because it told me who the murderer was,” I replied, “and, once I knew that, I instantly realised how they had committed the crime. Would you like to know where the murder weapon is now?”

“Of course,” said Gil.

“It's in your cabin,” I replied.

“It's _where_? The murderer used something of mine? The bloody cheek!”

“Yes,” I said. “I'm afraid they did. There it was, hiding in plain sight all along. You see, the murder weapon was, in fact, our clank.”

Gil gaped at me. “Horatio?”

“Indeed.”

“But... how...?”

“The clank had an electromagnet, yes? It would have had no difficulty in rebolting the door from the outside, in calculating the exact force required to kill Dangerfield without making a huge mess of his skull, and in opening the hot water pipe and hiding the cloth in there without causing a miniature flood. The cloth which had been carefully wrapped around its hand, so that there would be no tell-tale traces of blood or hair. It could do all those things, could it not?”

“Yes, of course it could,” Gil protested, “but it couldn't possibly have done them off its own bat. Someone would have had to order it to do those things, and it won't... it wouldn't, I mean... take orders from just anyone. There are only three people on board this ship who had the right to give it orders in normal circumstances: you, me and Donatella.”

“In normal circumstances, Herr Baron?” asked Donatella.

“Yes. Agatha has an emergency override code in the very unlikely event that anything should happen to me en route. But, frankly, anyone capable of stealing that from Agatha could probably take over the world.”

“Nobody stole anything from Agatha,” I replied. “Here is the piece of cloth the engineer found in the hot water pipe.” I held it up. “Do you recognise it, Gil?”

Gil went white. “That's... one of Donatella's scarves,” he said, slowly. “You don't mean...?”

“Oh, so that's where it is!” said Donatella. “I noticed it was missing a couple of days ago. Thank you, my lord.”

I shook my head. “I'm sorry, Donatella. You are a very cool customer and a magnificent actor, but you did, in fact, kill Dangerfield, with the assistance of the clank.”

“My own administrator?” said Gil. “This is... well, it's...”

“Yes, I'm very much afraid it is,” I said, regretfully. “It's not exactly easy for me, either. However, the facts are quite clear. You recall when I said I wanted to use the clank for surveillance in the main lounge?”

Gil nodded. “Of course. Donatella offered to arrange that for you.”

“Indeed; and I got nothing significant out of it. That, of course, could have happened anyway, but there was also the curious fact that the clank drew attention to itself by constantly playing cat's-cradle. An odd sort of thing for a clank to do, don't you think... unless someone told it to do so?”

“It was intelligent,” Donatella pointed out. “I can't help it if it played cat's-cradle. It must have been bored out of its mind.”

“I'm afraid that won't wash,” I said. “I've been working with sparks since before you were born. I know about as much about clanks as anyone who isn't a spark can. It didn't strike me for a while, admittedly; it's true that clanks can get bored. Nonetheless, even a bored clank playing string games is highly unusual, because they can usually find internal ways to amuse themselves. Especially when they are doing a task in which their whole purpose is supposed to involve being inconspicuous.”

“That does make a lot of sense,” said Gil, frowning.

“Now,” I said. “There was the curious fact of the Princess' apparent disappearance, which, given the fact that I still wasn't sure the motive for the crime was not political, was worrying to say the least... for about ten minutes. I sent the clank to find the Princess, and find her it did. But she was not where anyone might expect her to be, and when I asked the clank how it found her so quickly, it said it didn't know.”

“ _That_ makes no sense at _all_ ,” said Gil. “Of course it knew.”

“Indeed it did; but it had been ordered not to tell me anything at all which might shed any light on the case, and so it lied to me. It was not used to doing that, and it was not comfortable with it. It found her, of course, because it was able to detect her communicator, which just happened to be identical, or nearly so, to the one Dangerfield carried.”

“And which I could not reach at the time, being in the bath,” said the Princess.

“Quite so. Once I realised that, I was able to reconstruct the events of the night of the murder. If the clank could detect the Princess' communicator, then it could detect Dangerfield's. It had been told where Dangerfield's cabin was, and instructed to go to it as soon as he went inside it for the night. It knocked on the door, and Dangerfield let it in; I imagine it had been primed with some convincing story. It stood talking to him for about five minutes, and then it suddenly overpowered and killed him, with the cloth wrapped round its hand.”

“Because if there had been any blood on the clank, you or I would have noticed,” said Gil.

“Exactly. It then hid the cloth in the water pipe, since that would seem like the last place anyone would think to look; and it would have got away with it, too, if the cloth hadn't worked loose and made its way along the plumbing system as far as the Princess' cabin.”

“So why was it destroyed?” asked Colette. “It gave me quite a shock when I found what was left of it.”

“Because your husband and I were starting to get somewhere with the investigation, and Donatella was aware that the clank was not happy with lying to me,” I explained. “There was too much of a risk that it would give the game away. And so Donatella calmly demolished it in the lavatories; the ladies' lavatories, naturally. That in itself was enough to confirm that we were looking for a woman. Donatella gambled – correctly, at first – that I would automatically assume the clank had been destroyed because it had heard something significant in the lounge.” I paused. “In fact, it had, but not what one might have expected. It was in the main lounge when the Princess told me that there had been an object blocking her hot water pipe, and I have no doubt that it reported this piece of information back to Donatella. It's not too unreasonable to assume it was agitated. Donatella was afraid it might crack and confess the whole business to either me or Gil, so it had to be put out of the way.”

“And the poison?” asked the Princess. “Signora Marchesi, you owe me something for a most unpleasant few hours.”

“Indeed,” I said. “One doesn't work for a spark for as long as Donatella has without picking up a few tricks. Gil, it's true, is not an expert in poisons; but we do have a friend who is, and she has been on Castle Wulfenbach often enough for Donatella to have got her into conversation. You see, I believe Donatella has wanted to kill George Dangerfield for a very long time.”

“Violetta,” said Agatha.

“Precisely. There is nothing Violetta doesn't know about poisons. It's clear that you were making a last-ditch attempt to recover your scarf, Donatella; but what I still don't know is whether you were actually trying to kill Princess Orlov, or merely incapacitate her for long enough to find a way to get the scarf back. Which was it?”

Donatella sagged. “I was hoping to put her in the infirmary. I didn't realise she was so tough at her age. I wouldn't have killed her. I had nothing against her, after all.”

“But you did have something against Dangerfield,” I said. “Enough, in fact, for you to wish him dead. Now, I will admit I am guessing here, but do you by any chance have a relative or perhaps a friend in England? Someone by the name of Cesare?”

She stared at me hollowly. “I did. Cesare was my brother. He killed himself.” She paused. “That man Dangerfield drove him to it.”

“That, my friend,” said Gil slowly, “was one hell of a guess.”

“It was... somewhat educated,” I replied. “Once I realised who the murderer must be, all I had to do was see if I could think of anyone from Italy in Dangerfield's past. I had only one Italian name, and no surname: someone called Cesare, who lived in England. But that, it appears, was all I needed.”

Oggie had turned in his seat, and was looking hard at Donatella. “Zo,” he said, “hyu iz de person vot killed heem, after all?”

“Didn't you hear what his lordship said?” asked the Tsarevna.

“Ho,” said Oggie. “Yez. Iz yust... a bit hard to take in.”

“It's hard for all of us, Ognian, myself included,” I replied.

“Zo... if hyu iz de murderer...” said Oggie, in a tone that suggested he was busy putting two and two together.

I very nearly got there first. “Oggie! No!”

It was too late. Oggie had tumped Donatella goot.

* * * * *

“This is one hell of a mess,” said Gil, the next morning.

“I never thought I'd be saying this to you,” I observed, “but you're running your hands through your hair.”

“And you're not,” said Gil. “True. But she wasn't your administrator, after all.”

“I was about to offer to take over temporarily,” I said. “Not exactly protocol, but the circumstances are, after all, highly unusual.”

“Would you?” asked Gil, gratefully. “That would be... well, it's not something I'd ever have asked of you, but if you're offering, I'm certainly not going to say no.” He sighed. “The amount of reshuffling we've had to do on this ship...”

“Indeed, but it all works. In fact, I understand that the Tsarina is so pleased with Tatiana that she's asked Dmitri to send her another were-samoyed as her new bodyguard. She's sensible enough not to ask for Tatiana herself.”

“Well, quite,” said Gil. “Even if Tarvek would let her go, which I doubt, she wouldn't want to. It would mean she'd hardly ever see Dimo. What about Oggie, by the way?”

“What about Oggie?” I asked.

“Well, is he going to have to face a manslaughter charge? Everyone could see he didn't set out to kill her, but...”

“Doubtful. Dr Grigorian said she had a heart attack, and it was already starting when Oggie hit her. The shock of being found out must have set it off.”

“Saves a trial, I suppose,” Gil replied.

“It does; but I have to say I prefer due process,” I said. “Though I will agree it would have got very complicated. There would have been the question of where she should be tried, and by whom.”

“Wouldn't that depend on whose airspace we were in?” asked Gil.

“Not necessarily. Dangerfield had dual citizenship, it turned out; he'd taken Russian citizenship as well as British. So one could argue for the trial being in Russia, in England, or in... h'mm... I should think either China or Mongolia.”

“Are you sure we weren't still over Russia?” asked Gil.

“We could well have been,” I admitted. “Even so, it's still not straightforward. I have to concede that Oggie, or the heart attack, saved everyone a vast amount of potential legal wrangling.”

“Indeed,” said Gil. “By the way, how did you know about this Cesare? Someone else you were at school with?”

“Oh, no,” I replied. “Cesare was one of Dangerfield's former lovers.”

“So how...?”

I held up a hand. “I wouldn't normally keep a secret from you, Gil, but this isn't my secret to keep.”

“Oh,” he said. “Understood. Well, anyway... congratulations, Ardsley. You make an outstanding sleuth.”

“I couldn't have done it on my own,” I replied. “Hoffmann was an invaluable help, and so, for that matter, was Princess Orlov.”

“Two clever people,” said Gil. “But you were the one who fitted all the clues together in the end.”

I shrugged. “Despite missing the fact that the murder weapon was hidden in plain sight until almost the end. I'm an idiot, Gil; right from the start I said there was spark technology involved, and there was the one piece of spark technology that could have done it, tying my shoelaces for me every morning.”

“Well, you did say something about nobody paying much attention to clanks,” Gil reminded me. “And it's not as if I thought of it either. Hell, not even Agatha thought of it. I don't think you need call yourself an idiot.”

“You're very kind,” I replied, with a smile. “And if you can spare me for a little while from my duties as your new temporary administrator, I'd like to go and have a word or two with Hoffmann.”

“Take all the time you need,” said Gil. “In any case, it won't be long before we land.”

* * * * *

“You know what?” said Hoffmann. “When you retire as Ambassador, I think you and I ought to go into business. Heversham and Hoffmann's Detective Agency. How does that sound?”

“Terrible,” I replied firmly, sipping my tea. “I'm no Sherlock Holmes. The only reason I ever get involved in detective work is because someone asks me to.” A waitress passed our table. “Excuse me; do you think you could possibly bring some of those cheese straws, please?”

“Certainly, my lord.” She departed in the direction of the kitchens.

“Yes, but you're so damn good at it,” Hoffmann insisted. “And you love solving puzzles. You've always said so. You even heavily implied it's one of the reasons you get on so well with Tarvek.”

“Jimenez,” I said patiently, “I'm not a police officer, I have no forensic training other than what I've been able to parlay from my experience of being a spy, and I hate advertising myself.”

“Fine. You can do the detecting, and I can do the marketing,” said Hoffmann, with a grin. “I mean, you can't argue with numbers. Your case-solving record so far is one hundred per cent. I don't suppose even Sherlock Holmes could beat that.”

“Two cases,” I said.

“Well? Even Holmes had to start somewhere.”

“There's also the fact that Mr Holmes is, or at any rate was during his career, a highly athletic man who thought nothing of shinning up and down drainpipes to get information,” I pointed out. “Whereas I can't even tie my own blasted shoelaces.”

“So? We complement each other. I can still do the athletic bits.”

“While falling through the occasional ceiling.”

“Well, yes, that was a bit embarrassing,” he admitted. “The Princess was very good about it, but I'm afraid Colette gave me a bit of a talking to. We had to pay for it, of course.” He brightened. “But there's insurance. There are definitely people in Paris who will insure detectives against things like falling through the ceiling in the course of duty.”

“True,” I agreed. “There are people like that in London too.”

“How do you know about them?” asked Hoffmann.

“They insure spies,” I replied. “And you?”

He grinned. “Same. I mean, when you get right down to it, there isn't a lot of difference between spying and detective work, except that you're working for yourself and so you don't have to obey any orders that don't seem to make any sense. Oh, and nobody tells you to kill anyone. In fact, you're usually trying to stop people from killing each other, which is far more your sort of thing, isn't it, Ardsley?”

The waitress came back with the cheese straws, and I thanked her. “You have a very persuasive way about you,” I said to Hoffmann, “but, in any case, I'm not planning to retire for quite a few years yet. I enjoy being the British Ambassador. I get paid a great deal of money to hang around with my best friend and do diplomacy.”

“Well, think about it,” said Hoffmann. “For when you do. I know what you're like. You're intelligent, you're sociable, and you like helping people. Are you really just going to sit around at Blackrigg Hall viewing the scenery once you retire? You'd be bored out of your tree in no time.”

“The vicar has been trying to get me onto the Parochial Church Council for quite some time now,” I said. “I was thinking I might do that.”

“Parochial Church Council? After everything you've done in your life? Oh, Ardsley, give it a rest.”

“It's a worthy occupation,” I replied.

“Pfft,” said Hoffmann. “It'll have you climbing the walls. Look, old friend – when you do get round to retiring, let me know. If we were based in Paris, you know, you could still see all your friends here regularly, and also spend time back in England when you felt like it. After all, it's not as if either of us really needs the income.”

“H'mm,” I said. “Well, I shall think about it. That, at least, I can promise.”

“Can't say fairer than that,” replied Hoffmann happily, taking a handful of my cheese straws.

* * * * *

There is little else to relate. The meeting in New Delhi went remarkably smoothly despite the reduction in our numbers, and Gil even managed to hire a new administrator, a Mr Singh. The Tsarina insisted on bestowing the rank of Prince on both Hoffmann and myself, in gratitude for solving the case; but naturally I do not use the title except when in Russia, since a prince or a princess is not quite the same thing in Russia as it is elsewhere. She also gave Gil money to replace the demolished clank, and he and Agatha went out and bought the best components they could find in New Delhi (which were very good indeed) and had a great deal of fun building the new clank together when we were not in meetings.

Mlle Rameau did indeed become the Parisian Ambassador in New Delhi, while M Jouvert, with fine irony, came down with dysentery and was out of action for almost the whole visit. I saw to all the interpretation in his place, which meant I was extremely busy but enjoying myself a good deal. I did, however, still have time to buy a few gifts for the family and some of my friends.

Mr Singh, of course, came back with us, during which time he impressed everyone with his calm demeanour, sunny nature, and above all outstanding competence. I had never thought Donatella quite as good as Boris, but Mr Singh, I felt, would come up to that high standard once he had fully settled in. His first name turned out to be Jatinder, and he was very soon insisting that I should call him by it.

A month or two after the visit to India, I received a very ornate card from Sturmhalten, in which the Storm King had the very great pleasure of inviting me to the engagement party of his adopted son and heir Prince Dmitri and Leonid Alexeyevich Nevsky. Gil did not get an invitation, and was quite annoyed about it until I returned from Sturmhalten and explained that it had been quite a low-key event.

“They'll undoubtedly have a full state wedding,” I said, “and naturally you'll be invited to that.”

“Well, it's good that they feel able to be open about it,” he replied, “but this is going to make things very awkward with the Tsarina, to say the least.”

“We had a long talk about that,” I told him. “Tarvek persuaded them it was for the best, and he'd handle any international unpleasantness himself if it was needed. But, frankly, I don't think there's a great deal the Tsarina can do about the Storm King's heir marrying his boyfriend in Sturmhalten, even if he is her half-brother. She can't really afford to get on the wrong side of Tarvek, even now.”

“Will she and the Tsarevna be invited?” Gil asked curiously.

“Oh, of course they'll be invited. It would be very rude not to do so. Whether they'll go or not is a moot point; but, if they do, they'll have to be polite. Any Russian prejudice will have to be left behind in Russia.”

“Good thing too,” said Gil. “You never know. It may help the situation over there. I mean, if it's generally known that the Tsarina's own half-brother is married to a man...”

“Well, quite,” I replied.

“How did you manage to get invited to the engagement party, anyway?” asked Gil.

“Being kind to a nervous Nevsky in the course of duty,” I replied. “He is a sweet young man, but not a very robust one.”

“I did rather get that impression. Oh, well, they'll complement each other.”

There was a tap on the door, which opened to admit Mr Singh. He was beaming as usual. “I am very sorry to bother you, Herr Baron,” he said, “but there is a little matter I should like to discuss with you when it is convenient. It is about Kyria Papagiorgiou. She is wanting to take early retirement.”

“Oh... she's in archives, isn't she?” asked Gil.

Mr Singh nodded. “That is correct.”

“I'll be along in a few minutes,” Gil promised. “Ardsley and I aren't talking about anything in particular.”

“Very well. Thank you, Herr Baron.” He left, his footsteps echoing jauntily down the corridor.

“I suppose you'll be thinking about retiring soon yourself,” he observed. “Not that I want you to, but it's hard work, and there's a limit...”

“I have good staff at the Embassy,” I replied. “I'm not thinking of hanging up my diplomatic bags yet.”

“What will you do when you retire?” he asked, curiously.

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Oh, I'm going into partnership with Jiminez Hoffmann,” I replied. “Detective agency. In Paris.”

“Bloody good idea,” said Gil, warmly. “Now I'd better go and talk to Mr Singh.”

It is as I said earlier about Hoffmann. When he decides he is going to drag you into something, then, somehow or other... you are dragged.


End file.
